• 


flW*M MMMM fUMU  A*  *U» RR  AA fUl IUI HA Rfl  IUI  & 


I 


the  Invader 


A    NOVEL 


Margaret  £. 


new  Vork  ana  Condon 
Brothers  Publishers 
1907 


n  mi  mumm*  ww  w  imim  tnttm  IAI  w  iniiniiniiind  ff 


Copyright,  1907,  by  HARPBB  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  May,  1907. 


TO 

fiilda  6rcaecs 

AND  THE  DUMB  COMPANIONS  OF  TAN-YR-ALLT 

THIS    BOOK    IS    DEDICATED    BY    THEIR 

GRATEFUL  AND  AFFECTIONATE 

FRIEND 


THE    INVADER 


THE   INVADER 


CHAPTER  I 

DINNER  was  over  and  the  ladies  had  just  risen, 
when  the  Professor  had  begged  to  introduce 
them  to  the  new-comer  on  his  walls.  The  Invader, 
it  might  almost  have  been  called,  this  full-length, 
life-size  portrait,  which,  in  the  illumination  of  a 
lamp  turned  full  upon  it,  seemed  to  take  posses 
sion  of  the  small  room,  to  dominate  at  the  end  of 
the  polished-oak  table,  where  the  light  of  shaded 
candles  fell  on  old  blue  plates,  old  Venetian  glass, 
a  bit  of  old  Italian  brocade,  and  chrysanthemums 
in  a  china  bowl  coveted  by  collectors.  Every  de 
tail  spoke  of  the  connoisseurship,  the  refined  and 
personal  taste  characteristic  of  Oxford  in  the 
eighties.  The  authority  on  art  put  up  his  eye 
glasses  and  fingered  his  tiny  forked  beard  uneasily. 
"There's  no  doubt  it's  a  good  thing,  Fletcher," 
he  said,  presently — "really  quite  good.  But  it's 
too  like  Romney  to  be  Raeburn,  and  too  like  Rae- 
burn  to  be  Romney.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  find 
out  the  painter,  if,  as  you  say,  it's  a  portrait  of  your 
own  great-grandmother — ' ' 


THE    INVADER 

"  He  did  say  so!"  broke  in  Sanderson,  exultantly. 
"He  said  it  was  an  ancestress.  Fletcher,  you're 
a  vulgar  fraud.  You've  got  no  ancestress.  You 
bought  her.  There's  a  sale-ticket  still  on  the  frame 
under  the  projection  at  the  right-hand  lower  corner. 
I  saw  it." 

Sanderson  was  a  small  man  and  walked  about 
perpetually,  except  when  taking  food:  sometimes 
then.  He  was  a  licensed  insulter  of  his  friends, 
and  now  stood  before  the  picture  in  a  belligerent 
attitude.  The  Professor  stroked  his  amber  beard 
and  smiled  down  on  Sanderson. 

"True,  O  Sanderson  ;  and  at  the  same  time 
untrue.  I  did  buy  the  picture,  and  the  lady  was 
my  great-grandmother  once,  but  she  did  not  like 
the  position  and  soon  gave  it  up.  This  picture  must 
have  been  done  after  she  had  given  it  up." 

"Is  this  a  conundrum  or  blather,  invented  to 
hide  your  ignominy  in  a  cloud  of  words?"  asked 
Sanderson. 

"It's  a  hors  d'ceuvre  before  the  story,"  interposed 
Ian  Stewart,  throwing  back  his  tall  dark  head  and 
looking  up  at  the  picture  through  his  eye-glasses, 
his  handsome  face  alive  with  interest.  "'Tak' 
awa'  the  kickshaws,'  Fletcher,  'and  bring  us  the 
cauf.'" 

The  Professor  gathered  his  full  beard  in  one  hand 
and  smiled  deprecatingly. 

"I  don't  know  how  the  ladies  will  like  my  ex- 
great-grandmother's  story.  It  was  a  bit  of  a 
scandal  at  the  time." 

"Never    mind,    Mr.    Fletcher,"    cried   a   young 


THE   INVADER 

married  woman,  with  a  face  like  a  seraph,  "  we're 
all  educated  now,  and  scandal  about  a  lady  with 
her  waist  under  her  arms  becomes  simply  clas 
sical." 

"Not  so  bad  as  that,  Mrs.  Shaw,  I  assure  you," 
returned  the  Professor;  "but  I  dare  say  you  all 
know  as  much  as  I  do  about  my  great  -  grand 
mother,  for  she  was  the  well-known  Lady  Ham- 
merton." 

There  were  sounds  of  interest  and  surprise,  for 
most  of  the  party  knew  her  name,  and  were  curious 
to  learn  how  she  came  to  be  Professor  Fletcher's 
great-grandmother.  Mr.  Fletcher  explained : 

"My  great-grandfather  was  a  distinguished  pro 
fessor  in  Edinburgh  a'  hundred  years  ago.  When 
he  was  a  widower  of  forty  with  a  family,  he  was 
silly  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  a  little  miss  of 
sixteen.  He  taught  her  Latin  and  Greek — which 
was  all  very  well — and  married  her,  which  was 
distinctly  unwise.  She  had  one  son — my  grand 
father — and  then  ran  away  with  an  actor  from 
London.  After  that  she  made  a  certain  sensation 
on  the  stage,  but  I  suspect  she  was  clever  enough  to 
see  that  her  real  successes  were  personal  ones;  at 
all  events,  she  made  a  good  marriage  as  soon  as  ever 
she  got  the  chance.  The  Hammerton  family  natu 
rally  objected.  You'll  find  all  about  it  in  those 
papers  which  have  come  out  lately.  I  believe, 
ladies,  they  were  almost  as  much  scandalized  by 
her  learning  as  by  her  morals." 

"She  told  Sydney  Smith  years  after,  I  think," 
observed  Stewart,  "that  she  had  to  be  a  wit  lest 

3 


THE   INVADER 

people  should  find  out  she  was  a  blue.  There's  a 
good  deal  about  her  in  the  Englefield  Memoirs. 
She  travelled  extraordinarily  for  a  woman  in  those 
days,  and  most  of  the  real  treasures  at  Hammerton 
House  come  from  her  collections." 

"  I  thought  they  were  nearly  all  burned  in  a  great 
fire,  and  she  was  burned  trying  to  save  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Shaw. 

"A  good  many  were  saved,"  returned  Fletcher; 
"she  had  rushed  back  to  fetch  a  favorite  bronze, 
was  seen  hurling  it  out  of  the  window — and  was 
never  seen  again." 

"  She  must  have  been  a  very  remarkable  woman," 
commented  Stewart,  meditatively,  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  picture. 

"Know  nothing  about  her  myself,"  remarked 
Sanderson ;  "  Stewart  knows  something  about  every 
body.  It's  sickening  the  way  he  spends  his  time 
reading  gossip  and  calling  it  history." 

"Gossip's  like  many  common  things,  interesting 
when  fossilized,"  squeaked  a  little,  white-haired, 
pink-faced  old  gentleman,  like  an  elderly  cherub  in 
dress-clothes.  He  had  remained  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  because  he  did  not  care  for  pictures. 
Now  he  toddled  a  little  nearer  and  every  one  made 
way  for  him  with  a  peculiar  respect,  for  he  was  the 
Master  of  Durham,  whose  name  was  great  in  Oxford 
and  also  in  the  world  outside  it.  He  looked  up  first 
at  the  pictured  face  and  then  at  Milly  Flaxman,  a 
young  cousin  of  Fletcher's  and  a  scholar  of  Ascham 
Hall,  who  had  taken  her  First  in  Mods,  and  was  hop 
ing  to  get  one  in  Greats.  The  Master  liked  young 

4 


THE   INVADER 

girls,  but  they  had  to  be  clever  as  well  as  pleasing  in 
appearance  to  attract  his  attention. 

"It's  very  like  Miss  Flaxman,"  he  squeaked. 

Every  one  turned  their  eyes  from  the  picture  to 
Milly,  whose  pale  cheeks  blushed  a  bright  pink.  The 
blush  emphasized  her  resemblance  to  her  ances 
tress,  whose  brilliant  complexion,  however,  hinted 
at  rouge.  Milly's  soft  hair  was  amber-colored,  like 
that  of  the  lady  in  the  picture,  but  it  was  strained 
back  from  her  face  and  twisted  in  a  minute  knot 
on  the  nape  of  her  neck.  That  was  the  way  in 
which  her  aunt  Lady  Thomson,  whose  example  she 
desired  to  follow  in  all  things,  did  her  hair.  The 
long,  clearly  drawn  eyebrows,  dark  in  comparison 
with  the  amber  hair,  the  turquoise  blue  eyes,  the 
mouth  of  the  pictured  lady  were  curiously  re 
produced  in  Milly  Flaxman.  Possibly  her  figure 
may  have  been  designed  by  nature  to  be  as  slight 
and  supple,  yet  rounded,  as  that  of  the  white-robed, 
gray-scarfed  lady  above  there.  But  something  or 
some  one  had  intervened,  and  Milly  looked  stiff 
and  shapeless  in  a  green  velveteen  frock,  scooped 
out  vaguely  around  her  white  young  throat  and 
gathered  in  clumsy  folds  under  a  liberty  silk 
sash. 

Mrs.  Shaw  cried  out  enraptured  at  the  interesting 
resemblance  which  had  escaped  them  all,  to  be  in 
stantly  caught  by  the  elderly  cherub  in  the  back 
ground,  who  did  not  care  about  art,  while  the  Pro 
fessor  explained  that  both  Milly's  parents  were,  like 
himself,  great-grandchildren  of  Lady  Hammerton. 
The  seraph  now  fell  upon  Milly,  too  shy  to  resist,  had 

5 


THE   INVADER 

out  her  hair-pins  in  a  trice  and  fingered  the  fluffy 
hair  till  it  made  an  aureole  around  her  face.  Then 
by  some  conjuring  trick  producing  a  gauzy  white 
scarf,  Mrs.  Shaw  twisted  it  about  the  girl's  head, 
in  imitation  of  the  lady  on  the  wall,  who  had  just 
such  a  scarf,  but  with  a  tiny  embroidered  border  of 
scarlet,  twisted  turban-wise  and  floating  behind. 

"There!"  she  cried,  pushing  the  feebly  protesting 
Milly  into  the  full  light  of  the  lamp  the  Professor 
was  holding,  "allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  new 
Lady  Hammerton!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  wondering  silence.  Milly's 
pulses  beat,  for  she  felt  Ian  Stewart's  eyes  upon  her. 
Neither  he  nor  any  one  else  there  had  ever  quite 
realized  before  what  capacities  for  beauty  lay  hid 
in  the  subdued  young  face  of  Milly  Flaxman.  She 
had  nothing  indeed  of  the  charm,  at  once  subtle  and 
challenging,  of  the  lady  above  there.  She,  with  one 
hand  on  the  gold  head  of  a  tall  cane,  looking  back, 
seemed  to  dare  unseen  adorers  to  follow  her  into  a 
magic,  perhaps  a  fatal  fairyland  of  mountain  and 
waterfall  and  cloud;  a  land  whose  dim  mists  and 
silver  gleams  seemed  to  echo  the  gray  and  the  white 
of  her  floating  garments,  its  autumn  leaves  to  catch 
a  faint  reflection  from  her  hair,  while  far  off  its  sky 
showed  a  thin  line  of  sunset,  red  like  the  border  of 
her  veil.  Milly's  soft  cheeks  and  lips  were  flushed, 
her  eyes  bright  with  a  mixture  of  very  innocent 
emotions,  as  she  stood  with  every  one's  eyes,  in 
cluding  Ian  Stewart's,  upon  her. 

But  in  a  minute  the  Master  took  up  Mrs.  Shaw's 
remark. 

6 


THE    INVADER 

"No,"  he  said,  emphatically;  "not  a  new  Lady 
Hammerton ;  only  a  rather  new  Miss  Flaxman ;  and 
that,  I  assure  you,  is  something  very  preferable." 

"I'm  quite  sure  the  Master  knows  something 
dreadful  about  your  great-grandmother,  Mr.  Fletch 
er,"  laughed  Mrs.  Shaw. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  go  before  he  tells  it,"  inter 
posed  Mrs.  Fletcher,  who  saw  that  Milly  was  feeling 
shy. 

When  the  ladies  had  left,  the  men  reseated  them 
selves  at  the  table  and  there  was  a  pause.  Every 
one  waited  for  the  Master,  who  seemed  meditating 
speech. 

"My  mother,"  he  said — and  somehow  they  all 
felt  startled  to  learn  the  fact  that  the  Master  had 
had  a  mother — "my  mother  knew  Lady  Hammer- 
ton  in  the  twenties.  She  was  often  at  Bath." 

The  thin,  staccato  voice  broke  off  abruptly,  and 
three  out  of  the  five  other  men  present  being  the 
Master's  pupils,  remained  silent,  knowing  he  had 
not  finished.  But  Mr.  Toovey,  a  young  don  over 
flowing  with  mild  intelligence,  exclaimed,  defer 
entially  : 

"Really,  Master!  Really!  How  extremely  in 
teresting!  Now  do  please  tell  us  a  great  deal  about 
Lady  Hammerton." 

The  Master  took  no  notice  whatever  of  Toovey. 
He  sat  about  a  minute  longer  in  his  familiar  posture, 
looking  before  him,  his  little  round  hands  on  his 
little  round  knees.  Then  he  said: 

"  She  was  a  raddled  woman." 

And  his  pupils  knew  he  had  finished  speaking, 

7 


THE   INVADER 

What  he  had  said  was  disappointingly  little,  but 
uttered  in  that  strange  high  voice  of  his,  it  contained 
an  infinite  deal  more  than  appeared  on  the  face  of 
it.  A  whole  discreditable  past  seemed  to  emerge 
from  that  one  word  "raddled."  Ian  Stewart,  to 
whose  imagination  the  woman  in  the  picture  made 
a  strange  appeal,  now  broke  a  lance  with  the 
Master  on  her  account. 

"She  may  have  been  raddled,  Master,"  he  said, 
"but  she  must  have  been  very  remarkable  and 
charming  too.  Hammerton  himself  was  no  fool, 
yet  he  adored  her  to  the  last." 

The  Master  seemed  to  hope  some  one  else  would 
speak;  but  rinding  that  no  one  did,  he  uttered  again : 

"Men  often  adore  bad  wives.  That  does  not 
make  them  good  ones." 

Stewart  tossed  a  rebel  lock  of  raven  black  hair 
back  from  his  forehead. 

"Pardon  me,  Master,  it  does  make  them  good 
wives  for  those  men." 

"Oh,  surely  not  good  for  their  higher  natures!" 
protested  Toovey,  fervently. 

The  Master  took  three  deliberate  sips  of  port  wine. 

"  I  think,  Stewart,  we  are  discussing  matters  we 
know  very  little  about,"  he  said,  in  a  particularly 
high,  dry  voice ;  and  every  one  felt  that  the  discus 
sion  was  closed.  Then  he  turned  to  Sanderson  and 
made  some  remark  about  a  house  which  Sanderson's 
College,  of  which  he  was  junior  bursar,  was  selling 
to  Durham. 

Fletcher,  the  only  married  man  present,  mourned 
inwardly  over  his  own  masculine  stupidity.  He 


THE   INVADER 

felt  sure  that  if  his  wife  had  been  there  she  would 
have  gently  led  Stewart's  mind  through  these 
paradoxical  matrimonial  fancies,  to  dwell  on  an 
other  picture ;  a  picture  of  marriage  with  a  nice  girl 
almost  as  pretty  as  Lady  Hammerton,  a  good  girl 
who  shared  his  tastes,  and,  above  all,  who  adored 
him.  David  Fletcher  felt  himself  pitiably  unequal 
to  the  task,  although  he  was  as  anxious  as  his  wife 
was  that  Stewart  should  marry  Milly.  Did  not  all 
their  friends  wish  it?  It  seemed  to  them  that 
there  could  not  be  a  more  suitable  couple.  If 
Milly  was  working  so  terribly  hard  to  get  her  First 
in  Greats,  it  was  largely  because  Mr.  Stewart  was 
one  of  her  tutors  and  she  knew  he  thought  a  good 
deal  of  success  in  the  Schools. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  Milly  Flaxman's 
goodness ;  in  fact,  some  of  the  girls  at  Ascham  com 
plained  that  it  "slopped  over."  Her  clothes  were 
made  on  hygienic  principles  which  she  treated  as  a 
branch  of  morals,  and  she  often  refused  to  offer  the 
small  change  of  polite  society  because  it  weighed 
somewhat  light  in  the  scales  of  truth.  But  these 
were  foibles  that  the  young  people's  friends  were 
sure  Ian  Stewart  would  never  notice.  As  to  him, 
although  only  four  and  thirty,  he  was  already  a 
distinguished  man.  A  scholar,  a  philosopher,  and 
an  archaeologist,  he  had  also  imagination  and  a 
sense  of  style.  He  had  written  a  brilliant  book  on 
Greek  life  at  a  particular  period,  which  had  brought 
him  a  reputation  among  the  learned  and  also  found 
readers  in  the  educated  public.  His  disposition  was 
sweet,  his  character  unusually  high,  judged  even 

9 


THE    INVADER 

by  the  standard  of  the  academic  world,  which  has 
a  higher  standard  than  most.  Obviously  he  would 
make  an  excellent  husband ;  and  equally  obviously, 
as  he  had  no  near  relations  and  his  health  was 
delicate,  it  would  be  a  capital  thing  for  him  to  have 
a  home  of  his  own  and  a  devoted  wife  to  look  after 
him.  Their  income  would  be  small,  but  not 
smaller  than  that  of  most  young  couples  in  Oxford, 
who  contrived,  nevertheless,  to  live  refined  and 
pleasant  lives  and  to  be  well-considered  in  a  society 
where  money  positively  did  not  count. 

But  if  Fletcher  did  not  succeed  in  forwarding 
this  matrimonial  scheme  in  the  dining-room,  his 
wife  succeeded  no  better  when  the  gentlemen  came 
into  the  drawing-room.  She  rose  from  a  sofa  in  the 
corner,  leaving  Milly  seated  there ;  but  Mr.  Toovey 
made  his  way  straight  to  Miss  Flaxman,  without  a 
glance  to  right  or  left,  and  bending  over  her  before 
he  seated  himself  at  her  side,  fixed  upon  her  a 
patronizing,  a  possessive  smile  which  would  have 
made  some  girls  long  for  a  barbarous  freedom  in  the 
matter  of  face-slapping.  But  Milly  Flaxman  was 
meek.  She  took  Archibald  Toovey's  seriousness 
for  depth,  and  as  his  attentions  had  become  un-> 
mistakable,  had  several  times  lain  awake  at  night 
tormenting  herself  as  to  whether  her  behavior 
towards  him  was  or  was  not  right.  Accordingly 
she  submitted  to  being  monopolized  by  Mr.  Toovey, 
while  Ian  Stewart  turned  away  and  made  himself 
pleasant  to  an  unattractive  lady-visitor  of  the 
Fletchers',  who  looked  shy  and  left-alone.  When 
Mrs.  Fletcher  tried  to  effect  a  change  of  partners, 

10 


THE    INVADER 

Ian  explained  that  he  found  himself  unexpectedly 
obliged  to  attend  a  College  meeting  at  ten  o'clock. 
In  a  place  where  there  are  no  offices  to  close  and 
business  engagements  are  liable  to  crop  up  at  any 
time  in  the  evening,  there  was  no  need  for  ex 
travagance  of  apology  for  this  early  departure. 

He  changed  his  shoes  in  the  narrow  hall  and  put 
on  his  seedy  -  looking  dark  overcoat,  quite  un 
conscious  that  Mrs.  Fletcher  had  had  the  collar 
mended  since  he  had  taken  it  off.  Then  he  went 
out  into  the  damp  November  night,  unlit  by  moon 
or  star.  But  to  Stewart  the  darkness  of  night,  on 
whatever  corner  of  earth  he  might  chance  to  find 
it  descended,  remained  always  a  romantic,  mys 
terious  thing,  setting  his  imagination  free  among 
visionary  possibilities,  without  form,  but  not  for 
that  void.  The  road  between  the  railing  of  the 
parks  and  the  row  of  old  lopped  elms,  was  ill-lighted 
by  the  meagre  flame  of  a  few  gas-lamps  and  hardly 
cheered  by  the  smothered  glow  of  the  small  prison- 
like  windows  of  Keble,  glimmering  through  the  bare 
trees.  There  was  not  a  sound  near,  except  the 
occasional  drip  of  slow-collecting  dews  from  the 
branches  of  the  old  elms.  Afar,  too,  many  would 
have  said  there  was  not  a  sound;  but  there  was,  and 
lan's  ear  was  attuned  to  catch  it.  The  immense 
inarticulate  whisper  of  night  came  to  him.  It 
came  to  him  from  the  deserted  parks,  from  the 
distant  Cherwell  flowing  through  its  willow-roots 
and  osier-islands,  from  the  flat  meadow-country 
beyond,  stretching  away  to  the  coppices  of  the  low 
boundary  hills.  It  was  a  voice  made  up  of  many 

ii 


THE    INVADER 

whispers,  each  imperceptible,  or  almost  imper 
ceptible  in  itself;  whisper  of  water  and  dry  reeds, 
of  broken  twigs  and  dry  leaves  fluttering  to  the 
ground,  of  heaped  dead  leaves  or  coarse  winter 
grass,  stirring  in  some  slight  movement  of  the  air. 
It  seemed  to  his  imagination  as  though  under  the 
darkness,  in  the  loneliness  of  night,  the  man-mas 
tered  world  must  be  secretly  transformed,  returned 
to  its  primal  freedom;  and  that  could  he  go  forth 
into  it  alone,  he  would  find  it  quite  different  from 
anything  familiar  to  him,  and  might  meet  with 
something,  he  knew  not  what,  secret,  strange,  and 
perhaps  terrible. 

Such  fancies,  though  less  crystallized  than  they 
must  needs  be  by  words,  floated  in  the  penumbra 
of  his  mind,  coming  to  him  perhaps  with  the  blood 
of  remote  Highland  ancestors,  children  of  moun 
tains  and  mist.  His  reasonable  self  was  perfectly 
aware  that  should  he  go,  he  would  find  nothing  in 
the  open  fields  at  that  hour  except  a  sleeping  cow 
or  two,  and  would  return  wet  as  to  the  legs,  and 
developing  a  severe  cold  for  the  morning.  But  he 
heard  these  far-off  whisperings  of  the  night  playing, 
as  it  were,  a  mysterious  "ground"  to  his  thoughts 
of  Milly  Flaxman.  The  least  fatuous  of  men,  he 
had  yet  been  obliged  to  see  that  his  friends  in 
general  and  the  Fletchers  in  particular,  wished  him 
to  marry  Milly,  and  that  the  girl  herself  hung  upon 
his  words  with  a  tremulous  sensitivity  even  greater 
than  the  enthusiastic  female  student  usually  ex 
hibits  towards  those  of  her  lecturer.  In  the  ab 
stract  he  intended  to  marry;  for  he  did  not  desire 

12 


THE    INVADER 

to  be  left  an  old  bachelor  in  college  He  had  been 
waiting  for  the  great  experience  of  falling  in  love, 
and  somehow  it  had  never  come  to  him.  There 
were  probably  numbers  of  people  to  whom  it  never 
did  come.  Should  he  now  give  up  all  hope  of  it, 
and  make  a  marriage  of  reason  and  of  obligingness, 
such  as  his  marriage  with  Miss  Flaxman  would 
assuredly  be?  Thank  Heaven!  as  her  tutor  he 
could  not  possibly  propose  to  her  till  she  had  got 
through  the  Schools,  so  there  were  more  than  six 
months  in  which  to  consider  the  question. 

And  while  he  communed  thus  with  himself,  the 
mysterious  whispers  of  the  night  came  nearer  to 
him,  in  the  blackness  of  garden  trees,  ancient  trees 
of  College  gardens  brooding  alone,  whispering  alone 
through  the  dark  hours,  of  that  current  of  young 
life  which  is  still  flowing  past  them;  how  for  hun 
dreds  of  years  it  has  always  been  flowing,  and 
always  passing,  passing,  passing  so  quickly  to  the 
great  silent  sea  of  death  and  oblivion,  to  the  dark 
night  whose  silence  is  only  sometimes  stirred  by 
vague  whispers,  anxious  yet  faint,  dying  upon  the 
ear  before  the  sense  can  seize  them. 


CHAPTER  II 

PARTIES  in  Oxford  always  break  up  early,  and 
Milly  had  a  good  excuse  for  carrying  her  ach 
ing,  disappointed  heart  back  to  Ascham  at  ten 
o'clock,  for  every  one  knew  she  was  working  hard. 
Too  hard,  Mr.  Fletcher  said,  looking  concernedly 
at  her  heavy  eyes,  mottled  complexion,  and  the 
little  crumples  which  were  beginning  to  come  in  her 
low  white  forehead.  Her  cousins,  however,  had 
more  than  a  suspicion  that  these  marks  of  care  and 
woe  were  not  altogether  due  to  her  work,  but  that 
Ian  Stewart  was  accountable  for  most  of  them. 

The  Professor  escorted  her  to  the  gates  of  the 
Ladies'  College;  but  she  walked  down  the  dark 
drive  alone,  mindful  of  familiar  puddles,  and  hear 
ing  nothing  of  those  mysterious  whispers  of  night 
which  in  Ian  Stewart's  ears  had  breathed  a 
"ground"  to  his  troubled  thoughts  of  her. 

She  mounted  the  stairs  to  her  room  at  the  top 
of  the  house.  It  was  an  extremely  neat  room,  and 
by  day,  when  the  bed  was  disguised  as  a  sofa,  and 
the  washstand  closed,  there  was  nothing  to  reveal 
that  it  served  as  a  bedroom,  although  a  tarnished 
old  mirror  hung  in  a  dark  corner.  The  oak  table 
and  pair  of  brass  candlesticks  upon  it  were  kept 
in  shining  order  by  Milly's  own  zealous  hands. 

14 


THE    INVADER 

Milly  found  her  books  open  at  the  right  place 
and  her  writing  materials  ready  to  hand.  In  a 
very  few  minutes  her  outer  garments  and  simple 
ornaments  were  put  away,  and  clothed  in  a  clean 
but  shrunk  and  faded  blue  dressing-gown,  she  sat 
down  to  work.  The  work  was  Aristotle's  Ethics, 
and  she  was  going  through  it  for  the  second  time, 
amplifying  her  notes.  But  this  second  time  the 
Greek  seemed  more  difficult,  the  philosophic  argu 
ment  more  intricate  than  ever.  She  had  had  very 
little  sleep  for  weeks,  and  her  head  ached  in  a 
queer  way  as  though  something  inside  it  were 
strained  very  tight.  It  was  plain  that  she  had 
come  to  the  end  of  her  powers  of  work  for  the 
present — and  she  had  calculated  that  only  by  not 
wasting  a  day,  except  for  a  week's  holiday  at 
Easter,  could  she  get  through  all  that  had  to  be 
done  before  the  Schools! 

She  put  Aristotle  away  and  opened  Mommsen, 
but  even  to  that  she  could  not  give  her  attention. 
Her  thoughts  returned  to  the  bitter  disappointment 
which  the  evening  had  brought.  Ian  Stewart  had 
been  next  her  at  dinner,  but  even  then  he  had 
talked  to  her  rather  less  than  to  Mrs.  Shaw.  After 
wards — well,  perhaps  it  was  only  what  she  de 
served  for  not  making  it  plain  to  poor  Mr.  Toovey 
that  she  could  never  return  his  feelings.  And  now 
the  First,  which  she  had  looked  to  as  a  thing  that 
would  set  her  nearer  the  level  of  her  idol,  was 
dropping  below  the  horizon  of  the  possible.  Aunt 
Beatrice  always  said — and  she  was  right — that 
tears  were  not,  as  people  pretended,  a  help  and. 

'5 


THE    INVADER 

solace  in  trouble.  They  merely  took  the  starch 
out  of  you  and  left  you  a  poor  soaked,  limp  creature, 
unfit  to  face  the  hard  facts  of  life.  But  sometimes 
tears  will  lie  heavy  and  scalding  as  molten  lead  in 
the  brain,  until  at  length  they  force  their  way 
through  to  the  light.  And  Milly  after  blowing  her 
nose  a  good  deal,  as  she  mechanically  turned  the 
pages  of  Mommsen,  at  length  laid  her  arms  on  the 
book  and  transferred  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 
But  she  tried  to  look  as  though  she  were  reading 
when  Flora  Timson  came  in. 

"  At  it  again,  M. !  You  know  you're  simply  work 
ing  yourself  stupid." 

Thus  speaking,  Miss  Timson,  known  to  her  in 
timates  at  Ascham  as  "Tims,"  wagged  sagely  her 
very  peculiar  head.  A  crimson  silk  handkerchief 
was  tied  around  it,  turban-wise,  and  no  vestige  of 
hair  escaped  from  beneath.  There  was  in  fact  none 
to  escape.  Tims's  sallow,  comic  little  face  had 
neither  eyebrows  nor  eyelashes  on  it,  and  her  small 
figure  was  not  of  a  quality  to  triumph  over  the 
obvious  disadvantages  of  a  tight  black  cloth  dress 
with  bright  buttons,  reminiscent  of  a  page's  suit. 

Milly  pushed  the  candles  farther  away  and  looked 
up. 

"I  was  wanting  to  see  you,  Tims.  Do  tell  me 
whether  you  managed  to  get  out  of  Miss  Walker 
what  Mr.  Stewart  said  about  my  chances  of  a  First." 

Tims  pushed  her  silk  turban  still  higher  up  on  her 
forehead. 

"I  can  always  humbug  Miss  Walker  and  make 
her  say  lots  of  indiscreet  things,"  Tims  returned, 

16 


THE    INVADER 

with   labored   diplomacy.     "But   I   don't   repeat 
them — at  least,  not  invariably." 

There  was  a  further  argument  on  the  point,  which 
ended  by  Milly  shedding  tears  and  imploring  to  be 
told  the  worst. 

Tims  yielded. 

"Stewart  said  your  scholarship  was  A  i,  but  he 
was  afraid  you  wouldn't  get  your  First  in  Greats. 
He  said  you  had  a  lot  of  difficulty  in  expressing 
yourself  and  didn't  seem  to  get  the  lead  of  their 
philosophy  and  stuff — and — and  generally  wanted 
cleverness." 

"He  said  that?"  asked  Milly,  in  a  low,  sombre 
voice,  speaking  as  though  to  herself.  "Well,  I 
suppose  it's  better  for  me  to  know — not  to  go  on 
hoping,  and  hoping,  and  hoping.  It  means  less 
misery  in  the  end,  no  doubt." 

There  was  such  a  depth  of  despair  in  her  face  and 
voice  that  Tims  was  appalled  at  the  consequence 
of  her  own  revelation.  She  paced  the  room  in 
agitation,  alternately  uttering  incoherent  abuse  of 
her  friend's  folly  and  suggesting  that  she  should  at 
once  abandon  the  ungrateful  School  of  Literce 
Humaniores  and  devote  herself  like  Tims,  to  the 
joys  of  experimental  chemistry  and  the  pleasures 
of  practical  anatomy. 

Meantime,  Milly  sat  silent,  one  hand  supporting 
her  chin,  the  other  playing  with  a  pencil. 

At  length  Tims,  taking  hold  of  Milly  under  the 
arms,  advised  her  to  "go  to  bed  and  sleep  it  off." 

Milly  rose  dully  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed, 
while  Tims  awkwardly  removed  the  hair-pins  which 
2  17 


THE    INVADER 

Mrs.  Shaw  had  so  deftly  put  in.  But  as  she  was 
laying  them  on  the  little  dressing-table,  Milly  sud 
denly  flung  herself  down  on  the  bed  and  lay  there 
a  twisted  heap  of  blue  flannel,  her  face  buried  in  the 
pillows,  her  whole  body  shaken  by  a  paroxysm 
of  sobs.  Tims  supposed  that  this  might  be  a  good 
thing  for  Milly;  but  for  herself  it  created  an  awk 
ward  situation.  Her  soothing  remarks  fell  flat, 
while  to  go  away  and  leave  her  friend  in  this  condi 
tion  would  seem  brutal.  She  sat  down  to  "wait 
till  the  clouds  rolled  by,"  as  she  phrased  it.  But 
twenty  minutes  passed  and  still  the  clouds  did  not 
roll  by. 

"Look  here,  M."  she  said,  argumentatively, 
standing  by  the  bed.  "  You're  in  hysterics.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  you." 

"  I  know  I  am,"  came  in  tones  of  muffled  despair 
from  the  pillow. 

"Well!"  Tims  was  very  stern  and  accented  her 
words  heavily,  "then — pull — yourself — together — 
dear  girl.  Sit  up!" 

Milly  sat  up,  pressed  her  handkerchief  over  her 
face,  and  held  her  breath.  For  a  minute  all  was 
quiet;  then  another  violent  sob  forced  a  pas 
sage. 

"It's  no  use,  Tims,"  she  gasped.  "I  cannot — 
cannot — stop.  Oh,  what  would — !"  She  was  going 
to  say,  "  What  would  Aunt  Beatrice  think  of  me  if 
she  knew  how  I  was  giving  way!"  but  a  fresh  flood 
of  tears  suppressed  her  speech.  "My  head's  so 
bad!  Such  a  splitting  headache!" 

Tims  tried  scolding,  slapping,  a  cold  sponge,  every 
18 


THE    INVADER 

remedy  inexperience  could  suggest,  but  the  hys 
terical  weeping  could  not  be  checked. 

"Look  here,  old  girl,"  she  said  at  length,  "I 
know  how  I  can  stop  you,  but  I  don't  believe  you'll 
let  me  do  it." 

"No,  not  that,  Tims!  You  know  Miss  Burt 
doesn't—" 

"  Doesn't  approve.  Of  course  not.  Perhaps  you 
think  old  B.  would  approve  of  the  way  you're  going 
on  now.  Ha!  Would  she!" 

The  sarcasm  caused  a  new  and  alarming  outburst. 
But  finally,  past  all  respect  for  Miss  Burt,  and  even 
for  Lady  Thomson  herself,  Milly  consented  to  sub 
mit  to  any  remedy  that  Tims  might  choose  to  try. 

She  was  assisted  hurriedly  to  undress  and  put  to 
bed.  Tims  knew  the  whereabouts  of  the  prize- 
medal  which  Milly  had  won  at  school,  and  placing 
the  bright  silver  disk  in  her  hand,  directed  her  to 
fix  her  eyes  upon  it.  Seated  on  her  heels  on  the 
patient's  bed,  her  crimson  turban  low  on  her  fore 
head,  her  face  screwed  into  intent  wrinkles,  Tims 
began  passing  her  slight  hands  slowly  before  Milly's 
face. 

The  long  slender  fingers  played  about  the  girl's 
fair  head,  sometimes  pressed  lightly  upon  her  fore 
head,  sometimes  passed  through  her  fluffy  hair,  as 
it  lay  spread  on  the  pillow  about  her  like  an  amber 
cloud. 

"  Don't  cry,  M.,"  Tims  began  repeating  in  a  soft, 
monotonous  voice.  "You've  got  nothing  to  cry 
about;  your  head  doesn't  ache  now.  Don't  cry." 

At  first  it  was  only  by  a  strong  effort  that  Milly 
19 


THE    INVADER 

could  keep  her  tear-blinded  eyes  fixed  on  the  bright 
medal  before  her ;  but  soon  they  became  chained  to 
it,  as  by  some  attractive  force.  The  shining  disk 
seemed  to  grow  smaller,  brighter,  to  recede  im 
perceptibly  till  it  was  a  point  of  light  somewhere  a 
long  way  off,  and  with  it  all  the  sorrows  and  agita 
tions  of  her  mind  seemed  also  to  recede  into  a  dim 
distance,  where  she  was  still  aware  of  them,  yet 
as  though  they  were  some  one  else's  sorrows  and 
agitations,  hardly  at  all  concerning  her.  The  ach 
ing  tension  of  her  brain  was  relaxed  and  she  felt 
as  though  she  were  drowning  without  pain  or 
struggle,  gently  floating  down,  down  through  a 
green  abyss  of  water,  always  seeing  that  distant 
light,  showing  as  the  sun  might  show,  seen  from  the 
depths  of  the  sea. 

Before  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed,  her 
sobs  ceased  in  sighing  breaths,  the  breaths  became 
regular  and  normal,  the  whole  face  slackened  and 
smoothed  itself  out.  Tims  changed  the  burden  of 
her  song. 

"Go  to  sleep,  Milly.  What  you  want  is  a  good 
long  sleep.  Go  to  sleep,  Milly." 

Milly  was  sinking  down  upon  the  pillow,  breath 
ing  the  calm  breath  of  deep,  refreshing  slumber. 
Tims  still  crouched  upon  the  bed,  chanting  her 
monotonous  song  and  contemplating  her  work. 
At  length  she  slipped  off,  conscious  of  pins-and- 
needles  in  her  legs,  and  as  she  withdrew,  Milly  with 
a  sudden  motion  stretched  her  body  out  in  the 
white  bed,  as  straight  and  still  almost  as  that  of  the 
dead.  The  movement  was  mechanical,  but  it  gave 

20 


THE    INVADER 

a  momentary  check  to  Tims's  triumph.  She  leaned 
over  her  patient  and  began  once  more  the  crooning 
song. 

"  Go  to  sleep,  M. !  What  you  want  is  a  good  long 
sleep.  Go  to  sleep,  Milly!" 

But  presently  she  ceased  her  song,  for  it  was  evi 
dent  that  Milly  Flaxman  had  indeed  gone  very 
sound  asleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

TIMS  was  proud  of  the  combined  style  and 
economy  of  her  dress.  She  was  constantly 
discovering  and  revealing  to  an  unappreciative 
world  the  existence  of  superb  tailors  who  made 
amazingly  cheap  dresses.  For  two  years  she  had 
been  vainly  advising  her  friends  to  go  to  the  man 
who  had  made  her  the  frock  she  still  wore  for  morn 
ing;  a  skirt  and  coat  of  tweed  with  a  large  green 
check  in  it,  a  green  waistcoat  with  gilt  buttons,  and 
green  gaiters  to  match.  In  this  costume  and  coiffed 
with  a  man's  wig,  of  the  vague  color  peculiar  to 
such  articles,  Tims  came  down  at  her  usual  hour, 
prepared  to  ask  Milly  what  she  thought  of  hypno 
tism  now.  But  there  was  no  Milly  over  whom  to 
enjoy  this  petty  triumph.  She  climbed  to  the  top 
story  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  and  entering 
Milly 's  room,  found  her  patient  still  sleeping  sound 
ly,  low  and  straight  in  the  bed,  just  as  she  had  been 
the  preceding  night.  She  was  breathing  regularly 
and  her  face  looked  peaceful,  although  her  eyes  were 
still  stained  with  tears.  The  servant  came  in  as 
Tims  was  looking  at  her. 

"I've  tried  to  wake  Miss  Flaxman,  miss,"  she 
said.  "She's  always  very  particular  as  I  should 
wake  her,  but  she  was  that  sound  asleep  this  morn- 

22 


THE    INVADER 

ing,  I  'adn't  the  'eart  to  go  on  talking.  Poor 
young  lady!  I  expect  she's  pretty  well  wore  out, 
working  away  at  her  books,  early  and  late,  the  way 
she  does." 

"Better  leave  her  alone,  Emma,"  agreed  Tims. 
"  I'll  let  Miss  Burt  know  about  it." 

Miss  Burt  was  glad  to  hear  Milly  Flaxman  was 
oversleeping  herself.  She  had  not  been  satisfied 
with  the  girl's  appearance  of  late,  and  feared  Milly 
worked  too  hard  and  had  bad  nights. 

Tims  had  to  go  out  at  ten  o'clock  and  did  not 
return  until  luncheon-time.  She  went  up  to  Milly 's 
room  and  knocked  at  the  door.  As  before,  there  was 
no  answer.  She  went  in  and  saw  the  girl  still  sound 
asleep,  straight  and  motionless  in  the  bed.  Her 
appearance  was  so  healthy  and  natural  that  it  was 
absurd  to  feel  uneasy  at  the  length  of  her  slumber, 
yet  remembering  the  triumph  of  hypnotism,  Tims 
did  feel  a  little  uneasy.  She  spoke  to  Miss  Burt 
again  about  Milly's  prolonged  sleep,  but  Miss  Burt 
was  not  inclined  to  be  anxious.  She  had  strictly 
forbidden  Tims  to  hypnotize — or  as  she  called  it, 
mesmerize — any  one  in  the  house,  so  that  Tims  said 
no  more  on  the  subject.  She  was  working  at  the 
Museum  in  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon,  only 
leaving  it  when  the  light  began  to  fail.  But  after 
work  she  went  straight  back  to  Ascham.  Milly 
was  still  asleep,  but  she  had  slightly  shifted  her 
position,  and  altogether  there  was  something  about 
her  aspect  which  suggested  a  slumber  less  pro 
found  than  before.  Tims  leaned  over  her  and  spoke 
softly : 

23 


THE    INVADER 

"Wake  up,  M.,  wake  up!  You've  been  asleep 
quite  long  enough." 

Milly's  body  twitched  a  little.  A  responsive 
flicker  which  was  almost  a  convulsion,  passed  over 
her  face ;  but  she  did  not  awake.  It  was  evident, 
however,  that  her  spirit  was  gradually  floating  up 
to  the  surface  from  the  depths  of  oblivion  in  which 
it  had  been  submerged.  Tims  took  off  her  Tam- 
o'-Shanter  and  ulster,  and  revealed  in  the  simple 
elegance  of  the  tweed  frock  with  green  waistcoat 
and  gaiters,  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire.  Then  she 
went  down-stairs  to  fetch  some  bread  and  butter 
and  an  egg,  wherewith  to  feed  the  patient  when  she 
awoke. 

She  had  not  long  left  the  room  when  the  slum- 
berer's  eyes  opened  gradually  and  stared  with  the 
fixity  of  semi-consciousness  at  a  stem  of  blossoming 
jessamine  in  the  wall-paper.  Then  she  slowly 
stretched  her  arms  above  her  head  until  some  inches 
of  wrist,  slight  and  round  and  white,  emerged  from 
the  strictly  plain  night-gown  sleeve.  So  she  lay, 
till  suddenly,  almost  with  a  start,  she  pulled  herself 
up  and  looked  about  her.  The  gaze  of  her  wide- 
open  eyes  travelled  questioningly  around  the  quiet- 
toned  room  which  two  windows  at  right  angles  to 
each  other  still  kept  light  with  the  reflection  of  a 
yellow  winter  sunset.  She  pushed  the  bedclothes 
down,  dropped  first  one  bare  white  foot,  then  the 
other  to  the  ground  and  looked  doubtfully  at  a 
pair  of  worn  felt  slippers  which  were  placed  beside 
the  bed,  before  slipping  her  feet  into  them.  With 
the  same  air  as  of  one  assuming  garments  which 

24 


THE    INVADER 

do  not  belong  to  her,  she  put  on  the  faded  blue 
flannel  dressing-gown.  Then  she  walked  to  the 
southern  window.  None  of  the  glories  of  Oxford 
were  visible  from  it ;  only  the  bare  branches  of  trees 
through  which  appeared  a  huddle  of  somewhat 
sordid  looking  roofs  and  the  unimposing  spire  of 
St.  Aloysius.  With  the  same  air,  questioning  yet 
as  in  a  dream,  she  turned  to  the  western  window, 
which  was  open.  Below,  in  its  wintry  dulness,  lay 
the  garden  of  the  College,  bounded  by  an  old  gray 
wall  which  divided  it  from  the  straggling  street; 
beyond  that,  a  mass  of  slate  roofs.  But  a  certain 
glory  was  on  the  slate  roofs  and  all  the  garden  that 
was  not  in  shadow.  For  away  over  Wytham, 
where  the  blue  vapor  floated  in  the  folds  of  the  hills, 
blending  imperceptibly  with  the  deep  brown  of  the 
leafless  woods,  sunset  had  lifted  a  wide  curtain  of 
cloud  and  showed  between  the  gloom  of  heaven  and 
earth,  a  long  straight  pool  of  yellow  light. 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window.  A  mild  fresh  air 
which  seemed  to  be  pouring  over  the  earth  through 
that  rift  in  heaven  which  the  sunset  had  made, 
breathed  freshly  on  her  face  and  the  yellow  light 
shone  on  her  amber  hair,  which  lay  on  her  shoulders 
about  the  length  of  the  hair  of  an  angel  in  some  old 
Florentine  picture. 

Miss  Burt  in  galoshes  and  with  a  wrap  over  her 
head  was  coming  up  the  garden.  She  caught  sight 
of  that  vision  of  gold  and  pale  blue  in  the  window 
and  smiled  and  waved  her  hand  to  Milly  Flaxman. 
The  vision  withdrew,  trembling  slightly  as  though 
with  cold,  and  closed  the  window. 

25 


THE    INVADER 

Tims  came  in,  carrying  a  boiled  egg  and  a  plate  of 
bread  and  butter.  Tims  put  down  the  egg-cup  and 
the  plate  on  the  table  before  she  relaxed  the  wrinkle 
of  carefulness  and  grinned  triumphantly  at  her 
patient. 

"Well,  old  girl,"  she  asked;  "what  do  you  say 
to  hypnotism  now  ?  Put  you  to  sleep,  right  enough, 
anyhow.  Know  what  time  it  is  ?" 

The  awakened  sleeper  made  a  few  steps  forward, 
leaned  her  hands  on  the  table,  on  the  other  side  of 
which  Tims  stood,  and  gazed  upon  her  with  startling 
intentness.  Then  she  began  to  speak  in  a  rapid, 
urgent  voice.  Her  words  were  in  themselves  or 
dinary  and  distinct,  yet  what  she  said  was  entirely 
incomprehensible,  a  nightmare  of  speech,  as  though 
some  talking  -  machine  had  gone  wrong  and  was 
pouring  out  a  miscellaneous  stock  of  verbs,  nouns, 
adjectives  and  the  rest  without  meaning  or  co 
hesion.  Certain  words  reappeared  with  frequen 
cy,  but  Tims  had  a  feeling  that  the  speaker  did 
not  attach  their  usual  meaning  to  them.  This 
travesty  of  language  went  on  for  what  appeared  to 
the  transfixed  and  terrified  listener  quite  a  long 
time.  At  length  the  serious,  almost  tragic,  babbler, 
meeting  with  no  response  save  the  staring  horror  of 
Tims's  too  expressive  countenance,  ended  with  a 
supplicating  smile  and  a  glance  which  contrived 
to  be  charged  at  once  with  pathos  and  coquetry. 
This  smile,  this  look,  were  so  totally  unlike  any  ex 
pression  which  Tims  had  ever  seen  on  Milly's 
countenance  that  they  heightened  her  feeling  of 
nightmare.  But  she  pulled  herself  together  and 

26 


THE    INVADER 

determined  to  show  presence  of  mind.  She  had 
already  placed  a  basket-chair  by  the  fire  ready  for 
her  patient,  and  now  gently  but  firmly  led  Milly 
to  it. 

"Sit  down,  Milly,"  she  said — and  the  use  of  her 
friend's  proper  name  showed  that  she  felt  the  oc 
casion  to  be  serious — "and  don't  speak  again  till 
you've  had  some  tea.  Your  head  will  be  clearer 
presently,  it's  a  bit  confused  now,  you  know." 

The  stranger  Milly,  still  so  unlike  the  Milly  of 
Tims's  intimacy,  far  from  exerting  the  unnatural 
strength  of  a  maniac,  passively  permitted  herself 
to  be  placed  in  the  chair  and  listened  to  what  Tims 
was  saying  with  the  puzzled  intentness  of  a  child 
or  a  foreigner,  trying  to  understand.  She  laid  her 
head  back  in  its  little  cloud  of  amber  hair,  and 
looked  up  at  Tims,  who,  frowning  portentously,  once 
more  with  lifted  finger  enjoined  silence.  Tims  then 
concealing  her  agitation  behind  a  cupboard-door, 
reached  down  the  tea-things.  By  some  strange 
accident  the  methodical  Milly's  teapot  was  absent 
from  its  place;  a  phenomenon  for  which  Tims  was 
thankful,  as  it  imposed  upon  her  the  necessity  of 
leaving  her  patient  for  a  few  minutes.  Shaking  her 
finger  again  at  Milly  still  more  emphatically,  she 
went  out,  and  locked  the  door  behind  her.  After 
a  moment's  thought,  she  reluctantly  decided  to 
report  the  matter  to  Miss  Burt.  But  Miss  Burt 
was  closeted  with  the  treasurer  and  an  architect 
from  London,  and  was  on  no  account  to  be  dis 
turbed.  So  Tims  went  up  to  her  own  room  and 
rapidly  revolved  the  situation.  She  was  certain 

27 


THE    INVADER 

that  Milly  was  not  physically  ill;  on  the  contrary, 
she  looked  much  better  than  she  had  looked  on 
the  previous  day.  This  curious  affection  of  the 
speech  -  memory  might  be  hysterical,  as  her  sob 
bing  the  night  before  had  been,  or  it  might  be 
connected  with  some  little  failure  of  circulation  in 
the  brain;  an  explanation,  perhaps,  pointed  to 
by  the  extraordinary  length  of  her  sleep.  Any 
how,  Tims  felt  sceptical  as  to  a  doctor  being  of 
any  use. 

She  went  to  her  cupboard  to  take  out  her  own 
teapot,  and  her  eye  fell  upon  a  small  medicine  bottle 
marked  "Brandy."  Milly  was  a  convinced  teeto 
taller;  all  the  more  reason,  thought  Tims,  why  a 
dose  of  alcohol  should  give  her  nerves  and  circula 
tion  a  fillip,  only  she  must  not  know  of  it,  or  she 
would  certainly  refuse  the  remedy. 

Pocketing  the  bottle  and  flourishing  the  teapot, 
Tims  mounted  again  to  Milly's  room.  Her  patient, 
who  had  spent  the  time  wandering  about  the  room 
and  examining  everything  in  it,  as  well  as  she  could 
in  the  fast-falling  twilight,  resumed  her  position 
in  the  chair  as  soon  as  she  heard  a  step  in  the  pas 
sage,  and  greeted  her  returning  keeper  with  an 
attractive  smile.  Tims  uttering  words  of  commen 
dation,  slyly  poured  some  brandy  into  one  of  the 
large  teacups  before  lighting  the  candles. 

"Now,  my  girl,"  she  said,  when  she  had  made 
the  tea,  "drink  this,  and  you'll  feel  better." 

Milly  leaned  forward,  her  round  chin  on  her  hand, 
and  looked  intently  at  the  tea-service  and  at  the 
proffered  cup.  Then  she  suddenly  raised  her  head, 

28 


THE    INVADER 

clapped  her  hands  softly,  and  cried  in  a  tone  of  de 
lighted  discovery,  "Tea!" 

"Excuse  me,"  she  added,  taking  the  cup  with  a 
little  bow;  and  in  two  seconds  had  helped  herself 
to  three  lumps  of  sugar.  Tims  was  surprised, 
for  Milly  never  took  sugar  in  her  tea. 

"That's  right,  M.,  you're  going  along  well!"  cried 
Tims,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  one  hand 
under  her  short  coat-tails,  while  she  gulped  her  own 
tea,  and  ate  two  pieces  of  bread  and  butter  put 
together.  Milly  ate  hers  and  drank  her  tea  daintily, 
looking  meanwhile  at  her  companion  with  wonder 
which  gradually  gave  way  to  amusement.  At 
length  leaning  forward  with  a  dimpling  smile,  she 
interrogated  very  politely  and  quite  lucidly. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  you  are —  ?  Ah,  the  doctor,  no 
doubt!  My  poor  head,  you  see!"  and  she  drew  her 
fingers  across  her  forehead. 

Tims  started,  and  grabbed  her  wig,  as  was  her 
wont  in  moments  of  agitation.  She  stood  trans 
fixed,  the  teacup  at  a  dangerous  angle  in  her  ex 
tended  hand. 

"Good  God!"  she  ejaculated.  "You  are  mad 
and  no  mistake,  my  poor  old  girl." 

The  "old  girl"  made  a  supreme  effort  to  contain 
herself,  and  then  burst  into  a  pretty,  rippling  laugh 
in  which  there  was  nothing  familiar  to  Tims's  ear. 
She  rose  from  her  chair  vivaciously  and  took  the 
cup  from  Tims's  hand,  to  deposit  it  in  safety  on  the 
chimney  piece. 

"How  silly  I  was!"  she  cried,  regarding  Tims 
sparklingly.  "  Do  you  know  I  was  not  quite  sure 

29 


THE    INVADER 

whether  you  were  a  man  or  a  woman.  Of  course  I 
see  now,  and  I'm  so  glad.  I  do  like  men,  you  know, 
so  much  better  than  women." 

"Milly,"  retorted  Tims,  sternly,  settling  her  wig. 
"You  are  mad,  you  need  not  be  bad  as  well.  But 
it's  my  own  fault  for  giving  you  that  brandy.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  hate  men — nasty,  self 
ish,  guzzling,  conceited,  guffawing  brutes!  I  never 
wanted  to  speak  to  a  man  in  my  life,  except  in  the 
way  of  business." 

Milly  waved  her  amber  head  gracefully  for  a 
moment  as  though  at  a  loss,  then  returned  play 
fully,  "That  must  be  because  the  women  spoil 
you  so." 

Tims  smiled  sardonically ;  but  regaining  her  sense 
of  the  situation,  out  of  which  she  had  been  mo 
mentarily  shocked,  applied  herself  to  the  problem 
of  calling  back  poor  Milly's  wandering  mind. 

"Sit  down,  my  girl,"  she  said,  abruptly,  putting 
her  arm  around  Milly's  body,  so  soft  and  slender  in 
the  scanty  folds  of  the  blue  dressing-gown.  Milly 
obeyed  precipitately.  Then  drawing  a  small  chair 
close  to  her,  Tims  said  in  gentle  tones  which  could 
hardly  have  been  recognized  as  hers: 

"M.,  darling,  do  you  know  where  you  are?" 

Milly  turned  on  her  a  face  from  which  the  un 
natural  vivacity  had  fallen  like  a  mask ;  the  appeal 
ing  face  of  a  poor  lost  child. 

"Am  I — am  I — in  a  maison  de  santi?"  she  asked 
tremulously,  fixing  her  blue  eyes  on  Tims,  full  of 
piteous  anxiety. 

"A  lunatic  asylum?  Certainly  not,"  replied 
30 


THE    INVADER 

Tims.     "Now  don't  begin  crying  again,  old  girl. 
That's  how  the  trouble  began." 

"  Was  it  ?"  asked  Milly,  dreamily.  "  I  thought  it 
was — "  she  paused,  frowning  before  her  in  the  air, 
as  though  trying  to  pursue  with  her  bodily  vision 
some  recollection  which  had  nickered  across  her 
consciousness  only  to  disappear. 

"  Well,  never  mind  that  now,"  said  Tims,  hastily ; 
"get  your  bearings  right  first.  You're  in  Ascham 
College." 

"A  College!"  repeated  Milly  vaguely,  but  in  a 
moment  her  face  brightened,  "I  know.  A  place 
of  learning  where  they  have  professors  and  things. 
Are  you  a  professor?" 

"No,  I'm  a  student.     So  are  you." 

Milly  looked  fixedly  at  Tims,  then  smiled  a 
melancholy  smile.  "I  see,"  she  said,  "we're  both 
studying — medicine — medicine  for  the  mind."  She 
stood  up,  locked  her  hands  behind  her  head  in  her 
soft  hair  and  wailed  miserably.  "Oh,  why  won't 
some  kind  person  come  and  tell  me  where  I  am,  and 
what  I  was  before  I  came  here?" 

Tears  of  wounded  feelings  sprang  to  Tims's  eyes. 
"Milly,  my  beauty!"  she  cried  despairingly,  "I'm 
trying  to  be  kind  to  you  and  tell  you  everything 
you  want  to  know.  Your  name  is  Mildred  Flaxman 
and  you  used  to  live  in  Oxford  here,  but  now  all 
your  people  have  gone  to  Australia  because  your 
father's  got  a  deanery  there." 

"Have  they  left  me  here,  mad  and  by  myself?" 
asked  Milly;  "have  I  no  one  to  look  after  me,  no 
one  to  give  me  a  home  ?" 

31 


THE    INVADER 

"I  suppose  Lady  Thomson  or  the  Fletchers 
would,"  returned  Tims,  "but  you  haven't  wanted 
one.  You've  been  quite  happy  at  Ascham.  Do 
try  and  remember.  Can't  you  remember  getting 
your  First  in  Mods,  and  how  you've  been  working 
to  get  one  in  Greats?  Your  brain's  been  right 
enough  until  to-day,  old  girl,  and  it  will  be  again. 
I  expect  it's  a  case  of  collapse  of  memory  from  over 
work.  Things  will  come  back  to  you  soon  and  I'll 
help  you  all  I  can.  Do  try  and  recollect  me — 
Tims."  There  was  an  unmistakable  choke  in 
Tims's  voice.  "We  have  been  such  chums.  The 
others  are  all  pretty  nasty  to  me  sometimes — they 
seem  to  think  I'm  a  grinning,  wooden  Aunt  Sally, 
stuck  up  for  them  to  shy  jokes  at.  But  you've 
never  once  been  nasty  to  me,  M.,  and  there's  pre 
cious  few  things  I  wouldn't  do  to  help  you.  So 
don't  go  talking  to  me  as  though  there  weren't  any 
one  in  the  world  who  cared  a  brass  farthing  about 
you." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  most  thankful  to  find  I  have  got 
some  one  here  who  cares  about  me,"  returned  Milly, 
meekly,  passing  her  hand  across  her  eyes  for  lack 
of  a  handkerchief.  "  You  see,  it's  dreadful  for  me 
to  be  like  this.  I  seem  to  know  what  things  are, 
and  yet  I  don't  know.  A  little  while  ago  it  seemed 
to  me  I  was  just  going  to  remember  something — 
something  different  from  what  you've  told  me. 
But  now  it's  all  gone  again.  Oh,  please  give  me  a 
handkerchief!" 

Tims  opened  one  of  Milly's  tidy  drawers  and 
sought  for  a  handkerchief.  When  she  had  found 

32 


THE    INVADER 

it,  Milly  was  standing  before  the  high  chimney-piece, 
over  which  hung  a  long,  low  mirror  about  a  foot  wide 
and  divided  into  three  parts  by  miniature  pilasters 
of  tarnished  gilt.  The  mirror,  too,  was  tarnished 
here  and  there,  but  it  had  been  a  good  glass  and 
showed  undistorted  the  blue  Delft  jars  on  the  mantel 
shelf,  glimpses  of  flickering  firelight  in  the  room, 
amber  hair  and  the  tear-bedewed  roses  of  a  flushed 
young  face.  Suddenly  Milly  thrust  the  jars  aside, 
seized  the  candle  from  the  table,  and,  holding  it  near 
her  face,  looked  intently,  anxiously  in  the  glass. 
The  anxiety  vanished  in  a  moment,  but  not  the  in- 
tentness.  She  went  on  looking.  Tims  had  always 
perceived  Milly's  beauty — which  had  an  odd  way 
of  slipping  through  the  world  unobserved — but  had 
never  seen  her  look  so  lovely  as  now,  her  eyes  wide 
and  brilliant,  and  her  upper  lip  curved  rosily  over 
a  shining  glimpse  of  her  white  teeth. 

Beauty  had  an  extraordinary  fascination  for 
Tims,  poor  step-child  of  nature!  Now  she  stood 
looking  at  the  reflection  of  Milly  without  noticing 
how  in  the  background  her  own  strange,  wizened 
face  peered  dim  and  grotesque  from  the  tarnished 
mirror,  like  the  picture  of  a  witch  or  a  goblin  behind 
the  fair  semblance  of  some  princess  in  a  fairy  tale. 

"I  do  remember  myself  partly,"  said  Milly, 
doubtfully ;  "  and  yet — somehow  not  quite.  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  remember  you  and  this  queer  place 
soon,  if  they  don't  put  me  into  a  mad-house  at 
once." 

"They  sha'n't,"  said  Tims,  decisively.  "Trust 
to  me,  M.,  and  I'll  see  you  through.  But  I'm 
*  33 


THE    INVADER 

afraid  you'll  have  to  give  up  all  thought  of  your 
First." 

"My  what,"  asked  Milly,  turning  round  in 
quiringly. 

"  Your  First  Class,  your  place,  you  know,  in  the 
Final  Honors  School,  Lit.  Hum.,  the  biggest  ex 
amination  of  the  lot." 

"Do  I  want  it  very  much,  my  First?" 
"  Want  it ?     I  should  just  think  you  do  want  it!" 
Milly  stared  at  the  fire  for  a  minute,  warming  one 
foot  before  she  spoke  again.     Then: 

"How  funny  of  me!"  she  observed, meditatively. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TIMS'S  programme  happened  to  be  full  on  the 
following  day,  so  that  it  was  half -past  twelve 
before  she  knocked  at  Milly's  door  and  was  ad 
mitted.  Milly  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  in 
an  attitude  of  energy,  with  her  small  wardrobe 
lying  about  her  on  the  floor  in  ignominious  heaps. 

"Tell  me,  Tims,"  said  Milly,  after  the  first  in 
quiries,  "are  those  positively  all  the  clothes  I 
possess  ?" 

"  Of  course  they  are,  M.  What  do  you  want  with 
more?" 

"  Are  they  in  the  fashion  ?"  asked  Milly,  anxiously. 

Tims  stared. 

"  Fashion !  Good  Lord,  M. !  What  does  it  mat 
ter  whether  you  look  the  same  as  every  fool  in  the 
street  or  not?" 

"Oh,  Tims!"  cried  Milly,  laughing  that  pretty 
rippling  laugh  so  strange  in  Tims's  ears.  "I  was 
quite  right  when  I  made  a  mistake,  you're  just  like 
a  man.  All  the  better.  But  you  can't  expect  me 
not  to  care  a  bit  about  my  clothes  like  you,  you 
really  can't." 

Tims  drew  herself  up. 

"You're  wrong,  my  girl,  I'm  a  deal  fonder  of 
frocks  than  you  are.  I  always  think,"  she  added, 

35 


THE    INVADER 

looking  before  her  dreamily,  "  that  I  was  meant  to 
be  a  very  good  dresser,  only  I  was  brought  up  too 
economical."  Generally  speaking,  when  Tims  had 
uttered  one  of  her  deepest  and  truest  feelings,  she 
would  glance  around,  suddenly  alert  and  suspicious 
to  surprise  the  twinkle  in  her  auditor's  eye.  But 
in  the  clear  blue  of  Milly  Flaxman's  quiet  eyes,  she 
had  ceased  to  look  for  that  tormenting  twinkle,  that 
spark  which  seemed  destined  to  dance  about  her 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

Presently  she  found  herself  hanging  up  Milly's 
clothes  while  Milly  paid  no  attention ;  for  she  alter 
nately  stood  before  the  glass  in  the  dark  corner, 
and  kneeled  on  the  hearth-rug,  curling-tongs  in 
hand.  And  the  hair,  the  silky  soft  amber  hair, 
which  could  be  twisted  into  a  tiny  ball  or  fluffed 
into  a  golden  fleece  at  will,  was  being  tossed  up  and 
pulled  down,  combed  here  and  brushed  there,  al 
together  handled  with  a  zeal  and  patience  to  which 
it  had  been  a  stranger  since  the  days  when  it  had 
been  the  pride  of  the  nursery.  Tims  the  untidy, 
as  one  in  a  dream,  went  on  tidying  the  room  she 
was  accustomed  to  see  so  immaculate. 

"There!"  cried  Milly,  turning,  "that's  how  I 
wear  it,  isn't  it?" 

"Good  Lord,  no!"  exclaimed  Tims,  contemplat 
ing  the  transformed  Milly.  "  It  suits  you,  M.,  in  a 
way,  but  it  looks  queer  too.  The  others  will  all 
be  hooting  if  you  go  down-stairs  like  that." 

Milly  plumped  into  a  chair  irritably. 

"  How  ever  am  I  to  know  how  I  did  my  hair  if  I 
can't  remember?  Please  do  it  for  me." 

36 


THE    INVADER 

Tims  smiled  sardonically. 

"I'll  lend  you  my  hair,"  she  said;  "the  second 
best.  But  do  your  hair!  You  really  are  as  mad 
as  a  hatter." 

Milly  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  can't?    Then  I  keep  it  like  this,"  she  said. 

An  argument  ensued.  Tims  left  the  room  to 
try  and  find  a  photograph  of  Milly  as  she  had  been. 

When  she  returned  she  found  her  friend  standing 
in  absorbed  contemplation  of  a  book  in  her  hand. 

"  This  is  Greek,  isn't  it  ?"  she  asked,  holding  it  up. 
Her  face  wore  a  little  frown  as  of  strained  attention. 

"Right  you  are,"  shrieked  Tims  in  accents  of 
relief.  "Greek  it  is.  Can  you  read  it?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Milly,  flushing  with  excite 
ment,  "but  I  shall  soon,  I  know  I  shall.  Last 
night  I  couldn't  make  head  or  tail  of  the  books. 
Now  I  understand  right  enough  what  they  are,  and 
I  know  some  are  in  Greek  and  some  in  English.  I 
can't  read  either  yet,  but  it's  all  coming  back 
gradually,  like  the  daylight  coming  in  at  the  win 
dow  this  morning." 

"Hooray!  Hooray!"  shouted  Tims.  "You'll 
be  reading  as  hard  as  ever  in  a  week  if  I  don't  look 
after  you.  But  see  here,  my  girl,  you've  given  me 
a  nasty  jar,  and  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  break  your 
heart  or  crack  your  brain  in  a  wild-goose  chase. 
You  can't  get  that  First,  you  know;  you're  on  a 
fairly  good  Second  Class  level,  and  you'd  better 
make  up  your  mind  to  stay  there." 

"A  fairly  good  Second  Class  level!"  repeated 
Milly,  still  turning  the  leaves  of  the  book.  "That 

37 


THE    INVADER 

doesn't  sound   very  exhilarating  —  and   I   rather 
think  I  shall  do  as  I  like  about  staying  there." 

Tims  began  to  heat. 

"Well,  that's  what  Stewart  said  about  you.  I 
don't  believe  I  told  you  half  plain  enough  what 
Stewart  did  say,  for  fear  of  hurting  your  feelings. 
He  said  you  are  a  good  scholar,  but  barring  that, 
you  weren't  at  all  clever." 

Milly  looked  up  from  her  book;  but  she  was  not 
tearful.  There  was  a  curl  in  her  lip  and  the  light 
of  battle  in  her  eye. 

"Stewart  said  that,  did  he?  Now  if  I  were  a 
gentleman  I  should  say — 'damn  his  impudence' — 
and  'who  the  devil  is  Stewart';  but  then  I'm  not. 
You  can  say  it." 

Tims  stared.  "Oh,  come,  I  say!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  don't  swear,  I  only  quote.  But  my  goodness, 
when  you  remember  who  Stewart  is,  you'll  be — 
well,  pained  to  think  of  the  language  you're  using 
about  him." 

"Why?"  asked  Milly,  her  head  riding  disdain 
fully  on  her  slender  neck. 

"Because  he's  your  tutor  and  lecturer — and  a 
regular  tiptop  man  at  Greek  and  all  that  —  and 
you — you  respect  him  most  awfully." 

"Do  I?"  cried  Milly — "did  perhaps  in  my  salad 
days.  I've  no  respect  whatever  for  professors  now, 
my  good  Tims.  I  know  what  they're  like.  Here's 
Stewart  for  you." 

She  took  up  a  pen  and  a  scrap  of  paper  and 
dashed  off  a  clever  ludicrous  sketch  of  a  man  with 
long  hair,  an  immense  brow,  and  spectacles. 

38 


THE    INVADER 

"Nonsense!"  said  Tims;  "that's  not  a  bit  like 
him." 

She  held  the  paper  in  her  hand  and  looked  fixedly 
at  it.  Milly  had  been  wont  seriously  to  grieve  over 
her  hopeless  lack  of  artistic  talent  and  she  had 
never  attempted  to  caricature.  Tims  was  thinking 
of  a  young  fellow  of  a  college  who  had  lately  died 
of  brain  disease.  In  the  earlier  stages  of  his  in 
sanity,  it  had  been  remarked  that  he  had  an 
originality  which  had  not  been  his  when  in  a  normal 
state.  What  if  her  friend  were  developing  the 
same  terrible  disease  ?  If  it  were  so,  it  was  no  use 
fussing,  since  there  was  no  remedy.  Still,  she  felt 
a  desperate  need  to  take  some  sort  of  precaution. 

"  If  I  were  you,  M.,"  she  said,  "  I'd  go  to  bed  and 
keep  very  quiet  for  a  day  or  two.  You're  so — so 
odd,  and  excited,  they'd  notice  it  if  you  went  down 
stairs." 

"Would  they?"  asked  Milly,  suddenly  sobered. 
"Would  they  say  I  was  mad?"  An  expression  of 
fear  came  into  her  face,  and  its  strangely  luminous 
eyes  travelled  around  the  room  with  a  look  as  of 
some  trapped  creature  seeking  escape. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"I'm  not  mad,"  affirmed  Milly,  swallowing  with 
a  dry  throat.  "  I'm  perfectly  sensible,  but  any  one 
would  be  odd  and  excited  too  who  was — was  as  I 
am — with  a  number  of  words  and  ideas  floating  in 
my  mind  without  my  having  the  least  idea  where 
they  spring  from.  Please,  Tims  dear,  tell  me  how 
I  am  to  behave.  I  should  so  hate  to  be  thought 
queer,  wanting  in  any  way." 

39 


THE    INVADER 

Tims  considered. 

"For  one  thing,  you  mustn't  talk  such  a  lot. 
You  never  have  been  one  for  chattering;  and  late 
ly,  of  course,  with  your  overwork,  you've  been  par 
ticularly  quiet.  Don't  talk,  M.,  that's  my  advice." 

"Very  well,"  replied  Milly,  gloomily. 

Tims  hesitated  and  went  on: 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  hide  up  this 
business  about  your  memory.  I  wish  you'd  let 
me  tell  old  B.,  anyhow." 

"  I  won't  have  any  one  told,"  cried  Milly.  "  Not 
a  creature.  If  only  you'll  help  me,  dear,  dear 
Tims — you  will  help  me,  won't  you  ? — I  shall  soon 
be  all  right,  and  no  one  except  you  will  ever  know. 
No  one  will  be  able  to  shrug  their  shoulders  and  say, 
whatever  I  do,  'Of  course  she's  crazy.'  I  should 
hate  it  so !  I  know  I  can  get  on  if  I  try.  I'm  much 
cleverer  than  you  and  that  silly  old  Stewart  think. 
Promise  me,  promise  me,  darling  Tims,  you  won't 
betray  me!" 

Tims  was  not  weak-minded,  but  she  was  very 
tender-hearted  and  exceedingly  susceptible  to  per 
sonal  charms.  She  ought  not,  she  knew  she  ought* 
not,  to  have  yielded,  but  she  did.  She  promised. 
Yet  in  her  friend's  own  interest,  she  contended  that 
Milly  must  confess  to  a  certain  failure  of  memory 
from  over-fatigue,  if  only  as  a  pretext  for  dropping 
her  work  for  a  while.  It  was  agreed  that  Milly 
should  remain  in  bed  for  several  days,  and  she  did 
so;  less  bored  than  might  have  been  expected,  be 
cause  she  had  the  constant  excitement  of  this  or 
that  bit  of  knowledge  filtering  back  into  her  mind. 

40 


THE    INVADER 

But  this  knowledge  was  purely  intellectual.  With 
Tims's  help  she  had  recovered  her  reading  powers, 
and  although  she  felt  at  first  only  a  vague  rec 
ognition  of  something  familiar  in  the  sense  of  what 
she  read,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  fast  regaining 
the  use  of  the  treasures  stored  in  her  brain  by  years 
of  dogged  and  methodical  work.  But  the  facts  and 
personalities  which  had  made  her  own  life  seemed 
to  have  vanished,  leaving  "not  a  wrack  behind." 

Tims,  having  primed  her  well  beforehand,  brought 
in  the  more  important  girls  to  see  her,  and  by  dint 
of  a  cautious  reserve  she  passed  very  well  with  them, 
as  with  Miss  Burt  and  Miss  Walker.  Tims  seemed 
to  feel  much  more  nervous  than  Milly  herself  did 
when  she  joined  the  other  students  as  usual. 

There  were  moments  when  Tims  gasped  with  the 
certainty  that  the  revelation  of  her  friend's  blank 
ignorance  of  the  place  and  people  was  about  to  be 
made.  Then  Mildred — for  so,  despising  the  soft 
diminutive,  she  now  desired  to  be  called — by  some 
extraordinary  exertion  of  tact  and  ingenuity,  would 
evade  the  inevitable  and  appear  on  the  other  side 
of  it,  a  little  elated,  but  otherwise  serene.  It  was 
generally  marked  that  Miss  Flaxman  was  a  dif 
ferent  creature  since  she  had  given  up  worrying 
about  her  Schools,  and  that  no  one  would  have 
believed  how  much  prettier  she  could  make  herself 
by  doing  her  hair  a  different  way. 

Miss  Burt,  however,  was  somewhat  puzzled  and 
uneasy.  Although  Milly  was  looking  unusually 
well,  it  was  evident  that  all  was  not  quite  right 
with  her,  for  she  complained  of  a  failure  of  memory, 

41 


THE    INVADER 

a  mental  fatigue  which  made  it  impossible  for  her 
to  go  to  lectures,  and  she  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
interest  in  the  Schools,  which  had  so  lately  been  for 
her  the  "be-all"  as  well  as  the  "end-all  here." 
Miss  Burt  knew  Milly's  only  near  relation  in  Eng 
land,  Lady  Thomson,  intimately;  and  for  that 
reason  hesitated  to  write  to  her.  She  knew  that 
Beatrice  Thomson  had  no  patience  with  the  talk — 
often  silly  enough — about  girls  overworking  their 
brains.  She  herself  had  never  been  laid  up  in  her 
life,  except  when  her  leg  was  broken,  and  her 
views  on  the  subject  of  ill-health  were  marked. 
She  regarded  the  catching  of  scarlet-fever  or  in 
fluenza  as  an  act  of  cowardice,  consumption  or  any 
organic  disease  as  scarcely,  if  at  all,  less  disgraceful 
than  drunkenness  or  fraud,  while  the  countless  little 
ailments  to  which  feminine  flesh  seems  more  par 
ticularly  heir  she  condemned  as  the  most  deplor 
able  of  female  failings,  except  the  love  of  dress. 

Eventually  Miss  Burt  did  write  to  Lady  Thomson, 
cautiously.  Lady  Thomson  replied  that  she  was 
coming  up  to  town  on  Thursday,  and  could  so  ar 
range  her  journey  as  to  have  an  hour  and  a  half  in 
Oxford.  She  would  be  at  Ascham  at  three-thirty. 
Mildred  rushed  to  Tims  with  the  agitating  news 
and  both  were  greatly  upset  by  it.  However, 
Aunt  Beatrice  had  got  to  be  faced  sometime  or 
other  and  Mildred's  spirit  rose  to  the  encounter. 

She  had  by  this  time  provided  herself  with  an 
other  dress,  encouraged  to  do  so  by  the  money  in 
hand  left  by  the  frugal  Milly  the  First.  She  had 
got  a  plain  tailor-made  coat  and  skirt,  in  a  be- 

42 


THE   INVADER 

coming  shade  of  brown;  and  with  the  unbecom 
ing  hard  collar  de  rigueur  in  those  days,  she  wore 
a  turquoise  blue  tie,  which  seemed  to  reflect 
the  color  of  her  eyes.  And  in  spite  of  Tims's 
dissuasions,  she  put  on  the  new  dress  on  Thursday, 
and  declined  to  screw  her  hair  up  in  the  old  way, 
as  advised. 

Accordingly  on  Thursday  at  twenty-five  minutes 
to  four,  Mildred  appeared,  in  answer  to  a  summons, 
in  the  quiet  -  colored,  pleasant  drawing-room  at 
Ascham,  with  its  French  windows  giving  on  to  the 
lawn,  where  some  of  the  girls  were  playing  hockey, 
not  without  cries.  Her  first  view  of  Aunt  Beatrice 
was  a  pleasant  surprise.  A  tall,  upstanding  figure, 
draped  in  a  long,  soft  cloak  trimmed  with  fur,  a 
handsome  face  with  marked  features,  marked  eye 
brows,  a  fine  complexion  and  bright  brown  eyes 
under  a  wide-brimmed  felt  hat. 

Having  exchanged  the  customary  peck,  she  wait 
ed  in  silence  till  Mildred  had  seated  herself.  Then 
surveying  her  niece  with  satisfaction : 

" Come,  Milly,"  said  she,  in  a  full,  pleasant  voice; 
"  I  don't  see  much  signs  of  the  nervous  invalid  about 
you.  Really,  Polly,"  turning  to  Miss  Burt,  "she 
has  not  looked  so  well  for  a  long  time." 

"She's  been  much  better  since  she  dropped  her 
work,"  replied  Miss  Burt. 

"Taking  plenty  of  fresh  air  and  exercise,  I  sup 
pose" — Aunt  Beatrice  smiled  kindly  on  her  niece — • 
"I'm  afraid  I've  kept  you  from  your  hockey  this 
afternoon,  Milly." 

"Oh  no,  Aunt  Beatrice,  certainly  not,"  replied 
43 


THE    INVADER 

Milly,  with  the  extreme  courtesy  of  nervousness. 
"  I  never  play  hockey  now." 

Lady  Thomson  turned  to  the  Head  with  a  shade 
of  triumph  in  her  satisfaction. 

"There,  Polly!  What  did  I  tell  you?  I  was 
sure  there  was  something  else  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Steady  work,  methodically  done,  never  hurt  any 
body.  But  of  course  if  she's  given  up  exercise,  her 
liver  or  something  was  bound  to  get  out  of  order." 

"No,  really,  I  take  lots  of  exercise,"  interposed 
Milly;  "only  I  don't  care  for  hockey,  it's  such  a 
horrid,  rough,  dirty  game ;  don't  you  think  so  ?  And 
Miss  Walker  got  a  front  tooth  broken  last  winter." 

Lady  Thomson  looked  at  her  in  a  surprised  way. 

"Well,  if  you've  not  been  playing  hockey,  what 
exercise  have  you  been  taking?" 

"Walks,"  replied  Milly,  feebly,  feeling  herself  on 
the  wrong  track ;  "I  go  walks  with  Ti — with  Flora 
Timson  when  she  has  time." 

Aunt  Beatrice  looked  at  the  matter  judicially. 

"Of  course,  games  are  best  for  the  physique. 
Look  at  men.  Still,  walking  will  do,  if  one  takes 
proper  walks.  I  hope  Flora  Timson  takes  you  good 
long  walks." 

"Indeed  she  does!"  cried  Milly.  "Immense! 
She  walks  a  dreadful  pace,  and  we  get  over  stiles 
and  things." 

"Immense  is  a  little  vague.  How  far  do  you 
go  on  an  average?" 

Mildred's  notions  of  distance  were  vague.  "  Quite 
two  miles,  I'm  sure,"  she  responded,  cheerfully. 

Aunt  Beatrice  made  no  comment.     She  looked 

44 


THE    INVADER 

steadily  and  scrutinizingly  at  her  niece,  and  in  a 
kind  but  deepened  voice  told  her  to  go  up  to  her 
room,  whither  she,  Lady  Thomson,  would  follow 
in  a  few  minutes,  just  to  see  how  the  Mantegnas 
looked  now  they  were  framed. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  Mildred, 
she  turned  to  Miss  Burt.  "  You're  right,  in  a  way, 
Polly,  after  all.  There  is  something  odd  about 
Milly,  but  I  think  it's  affectation.  Did  you  hear 
her  answer?  Two  miles!  When  to  my  knowledge 
she  can  easily  walk  ten." 

Meantime,  Mildred  mounted  slowly  to  her  room. 
She  had  tidied  it  under  Tims's  instructions  and  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  down  and  think  until  Lady 
Thomson's  masculine  step  was  heard  outside  her 
door. 

Aunt  Beatrice  came  in  and  laid  aside  her  hat 
and  cloak,  showing  a  dress  of  rough  gray  tweed,  and 
short — so  far  a  tribute  to  the  practical — but  other 
wise  made  on  some  awkward  artistic  or  hygienic 
principle.  Her  glossy  brown  hair  was  brushed 
back  and  twisted  tight,  as  Milly 's  used  to  be,  but 
with  different  effect,  because  of  its  heaviness  and 
length. 

"Why  have  you  crammed  up  one  of  your  win 
dows  with  a  dressing-glass?"  asked  Aunt  Beatrice, 
putting  a  picture  straight. 

"  Because  I  can't  see  myself  in  that  dark  corner," 
returned  Mildred,  demurely  meek,  but  waiting  her 
opportunity. 

"See  yourself!  My  dear  child,  you  hardly  ever 
want  to  see  yourself,  if  you  are  habitually  neat  and 

45 


THE    INVADER 

dressed  sensibly.  I  see  you've  adopted  the  man 
nish  style.  That's  a  phase  of  vanity.  You'll  come 
back  to  the  beautiful  and  natural  before  long." 

Mildred  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head. 

"I  don't  think  so,  Aunt  Beatrice.  I've  settled 
the  dress  question  once  and  for  all.  I've  found  a 
clean,  tidy,  convenient  style  of  dress  and  I  can't 
waste  time  thinking  about  altering  it  again." 

"You  don't  seem  to  mind  wasting  it  on  doing 
your  hair,"  returned  Aunt  Beatrice,  smiling,  but 
not  grimly,  for  she  enjoyed  logical  fencing,  even  to 
her  opponent's  fair  hits. 

"If  I  had  beautiful  hair  like  yours,  I  shouldn't 
need  to,"  replied  Mildred.  "But  you  know  how 
endy  and  untidy  mine  always  was." 

Aunt  Beatrice,  embarrassed  by  the  compliment, 
looked  at  her  watch.  "It  seems  as  if  we  women 
can't  escape  our  fate,"  she  said.  "Here  we  are 
gabbling  about  dress  when  we've  plenty  of  im 
portant  things  to  talk  over.  Miss  Burt  wrote  to 
me  that  you  were  overworked,  run  down,  nerves 
out  of  order,  and  all  the  usual  nonsense.  I  'm  thank 
ful  to  find  you  looking  remarkably  well.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  this  humbug  about  not  being 
able  to  work  means." 

"It  means  that — well,  I  simply  can't,"  returned 
Mildred,  earnestly  this  time.  "I  can't  remember 
things." 

"You  must  be  able  to  remember;  unless  your 
brain's  diseased,  which  is  most  improbable.  But 
I  ought  to  take  you  to  a  brain  specialist,  I  suppose." 

46 


THE    INVADER 

Milly  changed  color.  "Please,  oh  please,  Aunt 
Beatrice,  don't  do  that!" 

Lady  Thomson,  in  fact,  hardly  meant  it;  for 
her  niece's  appearance  was  unmistakably  healthy. 
However,  the  threat  told. 

"I  shall  if  you  don't  improve.  I  can't  under 
stand  you.  Either  you're  hysterical  or  you've  got 
one  of  those  abominable  fits  of  frivolity  which  come 
on  women  like  drink  on  men,  and  destroy  their 
careers.  I  thought  we  had  both  set  our  heafts  on 
your  getting  another  First." 

"But,  Aunt  Beatrice,  they  say  I  can't.  They 
say  I'm  not  clever  enough." 

"  Oh,  that's  what  they  say,  is  it  ?"  Lady  Thom 
son  smiled  in  calm  but  deep  contempt.  "  How  do 
they  explain  the  idiots  who  have  got  Firsts  ?  Archi 
bald  .Toovey,  for  instance?"  Her  eyes  met  her 
niece's,  and  both  smiled. 

"Ah,  yes!  Mr.  Toovey,"  returned  Milly,  who 
had  met  Archibald  Toovey  at  the  Fletchers',  and 
converted  his  patronizing  courtship  into  imbecile 
raptures. 

"  But  that  quite  .explains  your  losing  an  interest 
in  your  work.  Just  for  once,  I  should  like  to  take 
you  away  before  the  end  of  term.  We  would  go 
straight  to  Rome  next  Monday.  We  shall  meet  the 
Breretons  there,  and  go  fully  over  the  new  excava 
tions  and  discoveries,  besides  the  old  things,  which 
will  be  new,  of  course,  to  you.  Then  we  will  go  on 
to  Naples,  do  the  galleries  and  Pompeii,  and  come 
back  by  Florence  and  Paris  before  Christmas.  By 
that  time  you  will  be  ready  to  settle  down  to 

47 


THE    INVADER 

your  work  steadily  again  and  forget  all  this  non 
sense." 

Mildred's  face  had  lighted  up  momentarily  at  the 
word  "Rome."  Then  she  sucked  her  under  lip 
and  looked  at  the  fire.  When  Lady  Thomson's 
programme  was  ended,  she  made  a  pause  before  she 
said,  slowly: 

"Thank  you  so  much,  dear  Aunt  Beatrice.  I 
should  love  to  go,  but — I  don't  think — no,  I  don't 
think  I'd  better.  You  see,  there's  the  expense." 

"Of  course  I  don't  expect  you  to  pay  for  your 
self.  I  take  you." 

"How  very  kind  and  sweet  of  you!  But — well, 
do  you  know,  you've  encouraged  me  so  about  that 
First,  I  feel  now  as  though  I  could  sit  down  and  get 
it  straight  away.  I  will  get  it,  Aunt  Beatrice,  if 
only  to  make  that  old  Professor  look  foolish." 

Lady  Thomson,  though  disappointed  in  a  way, 
felt  that  Milly  Flaxman  was  doing  credit  to  her 
principles,  showing  a  spirit  worthy  of  her  family. 
She  did  not  urge  the  Roman  plan ;  but  content  with 
a  victory  over  "nerves  and  the  usual  nonsense," 
withdrew  triumphant  to  the  railway  station. 

Tims  came  in  when  she  was  gone  and  heard  about 
the  Roman  offer. 

"  You  refused,  when  Aunt  Beatrice  was  going  to 
plank  down  the  dollars?  M.,  you  are  a  fool!" 

"No,  Tims,"  Mildred  answered,  deliberately; 
"  you  see,  I  don't  feel  sure  yet  whether  I  can  man 
age  Aunt  Beatrice." 


CHAPTER  V 

OXFORD  is  beautiful  at  all  times,  beautiful 
even  now,  in  spite  of  the  cruel  disfigurement 
inflicted  upon  her  by  the  march  of  modern  vul 
garity,  but  she  has  three  high  festivals  which  clothe 
her  with  a  special  glory  and  crown  her  with  their 
several  crowns.  One  is  the  Festival  of  May,  when 
her  hoary  walls  and  ancient  enclosures  overflow 
with  emerald  and  white,  rose-color  and  purple  and 
gold,  a  foam  of  leafage  and  blossom,  breaking  spray- 
like  over  edges  of  stone,  gray  as  sea-worn  rocks. 
And  all  about  the  city  the  green  meadows  and  groves 
burn  with  many  tones  of  color,  brilliant  as  enamels 
or  as  precious  stones,  yet  of  a  texture  softer  and 
richer,  more  full  of  delicate  shadows  than  any 
velvet  mantle  that  ever  was  woven  for  a  queen. 

Another  Festival  comes  with  that  strayed  bac 
chanal  October,  who  hangs  her  scarlet  and  wine- 
colored  garlands  on  cloister  and  pinnacle,  on  wall 
and  tower.  And  gradually  the  foliage  of  grove 
and  garden,  turns  through  shade  of  bluish  metallic 
green,  to  the  mingled  splendor  of  pale  gold  and 
beaten  bronze  and  deepest  copper,  half  glowing  and 
half  drowned  in  the  low,  mellow  sunlight,  and  purple 
mist  of  autumn. 

Last  comes  the  Festival  of  Mid-winter,  the  Fes- 
4  49 


THE    INVADER 

tival  of  the  Frost.  The  rime  comes,  or  the  snow, 
and  the  long  lines  of  the  buildings,  the  fret-work 
of  stone,  the  battlements,  carved  pinnacles  and 
images  of  saints  or  devils,  stand  up  with  clear  glitter 
ing  outlines,  or  clustered  about  and  overhung  with 
fantasies  of  ice  and  snow.  Behind,  the  deep-blue 
sky  itself  seems  to  glitter  too.  The  frozen  floods 
glitter  in  the  meadows,  and  every  little  twig  on  the 
bare  trees.  There  is  no  color  in  the  earth,  but  the 
atmosphere  of  the  river  valley  clothes  distant  hills 
and  trees  and  hedges  with  ultramarine  vapor. 
Towards  evening  the  mist  climbs,  faintly  veiling 
the  tall  groves  of  elms  and  the  piled  masses  of  the 
city  itself.  The  sunset  begins  to  burn  red  behind 
Magdalen  Tower,  all  the  towers  and  aery  pinnacles 
rise  blue  yet  distinct  against  it.  And  this  festival  is 
not  only  one  of  nature.  The  glittering  ice  is  spread 
over  the  meadows,  and,  everywhere  from  morning 
till  moonlight,  the  rhythmical  ring  of  the  skate  and 
the  sound  of  voices  sonorous  with  the  joy  of  living, 
travel  far  on  the  frosty  air.  Sometimes  the  very 
rivers  are  frozen,  and  the  broad,  bare  highway  of 
the  Thames  and  the  tree-sheltered  path  of  the 
Cherwell  are  alive  with  black  figures,  heel-winged 
like  Mercury,  flying  swiftly  on  no  errand,  but  for 
the  mere  delight  of  flying. 

It  was  early  on  such  a  shining  festival  morning 
that  Mildred,  a  willowy,  brown-clad  figure,  came 
down  to  a  piece  of  ice  in  an  outlying  meadow. 
Her  shadow  moved  beside  her  in  the  sunshine, 
blue  on  the  whiteness  of  the  snow,  which  crunched 
crisp  and  thin  under  her  feet.  She  carried  a  black 

So 


THE    INVADER 

bag  in  her  hand — sign  of  the  serious  skater,  and  her 
face  was  serious,  even  apprehensive.  She  saw  with 
relief  that  except  the  sweepers  there  was  no  one 
on  the  ice.  A  row  of  shivering  men,  buttoned  up 
to  the  chin  in  seedy  coats,  rose  from  the  chairs 
where  they  awaited  their  appointed  prey,  and  all 
yelled  to  her  at  once.  She  crowned  the  hopes  of 
one  by  occupying  his  seat,  but  the  important  task 
of  putting  on  the  bladed  boots  she  could  depute  to 
none.  Tims,  whom  no  appeal  of  friendship  could 
induce  to  shiver  on  the  ice,  had  told  her  that  Milly 
was  an  expert  skater.  She  was,  in  fact,  correct 
and  accomplished,  but  there  was  a  stiffness  and 
sense  of  effort  about  her  style,  a  want  of  that  ap 
pearance  of  free  and  daring  abandonment  to  the 
stroke  of  the  blade  once  launched,  that  makes  the 
beauty  of  skating.  Mildred  knew  only  that  she 
had  to  live  up  to  the  reputation  of  a  mighty  skater, 
and  was  not  sure  whether  she  could  even  stand  on 
these  knifelike  edges.  She  laced  one  boot,  happy 
in  the  belief  that  at  any  rate  there  would  be  no 
witness  to  her  voyage  of  discovery.  But  a  re 
newed  yelling  among  the  men  made  her  lift  her 
head,  and  there,  striding  swiftly  over  the  crisp  snow, 
came  a  tall,  handsome  young  man,  with  a  pointed, 
silky  black  beard  and  fine,  short-sighted  black  eyes, 
aglow  with  the  pleasure  of  the  frosty  sun. 

It  was  Ian  Stewart.  The  young  lady  whom  he 
discovered  to  be  Miss  Flaxman  just  as  he  reached 
the  chairs,  was  much  more  annoyed  than  he  at  the 
encounter.  Here  was  an  acquaintance,  it  seemed, 
and  one  provided  with  the  bag  and  orange  which 


THE    INVADER 

Tims  had  warned  her  was  the  mark  of  the  serious 
skater.  They  exchanged  remarks  on  the  weather 
and  she  went  on  lacing  her  other  boot  in  great 
trepidation.  The  moment  was  come.  She  did  not 
recoil  from  the  insult  of  being  seized  under  her 
elbows  by  two  men  and  carefully  planted  on  her 
feet  as  though  she  were  most  likely  to  tumble  down. 
So  far  as  she  knew,  she  was  likely  to.  But,  lo!  no 
sooner  was  she  up  than  muscles  and  nerves,  recking 
nothing  of  the  brain's  blind  denial,  asserted  their 
own  acquaintance  with  the  art  of  balance  and 
motion.  Wondering,  and  for  a  few  minutes  still 
apprehensive,  but  presently  lost  in  the  pleasure  of 
the  thing,  Mildred  began  to  fly  over  the  ice.  And 
the  dark,  handsome  man  who  had  taken  off  his 
cap  to  her  became  supremely  unimportant.  Un 
luckily  the  piece  of  flood-ice  was  not  endless  and 
she  had  to  come  back.  He  was  circling  around  an 
orange,  and  she,  throwing  herself  instinctively  on  to 
the  outside  edge,  came  down  towards  him  in  great, 
sweeping  curves,  absorbed  in  the  delight  of  this 
motion,  so  new  yet  so  perfectly  under  her  control. 
Ian  Stewart,  perceiving  that  the  girl  was  absolutely 
unconscious  of  his  presence,  blushed  in  his  soul  to 
think  that  he  had  been  induced  to  believe  himself 
to  be  of  importance  in  her  eyes. 

"Miss  Flaxman,"  he  said,  skating  up  to  her,  "I 
see  you  have  no  orange.  Can't  we  skate  a  figure 
together  around  mine?" 

"  I've  forgotten  all  about  figures,"  replied  Mildred, 
with  truth. 

" Try  some  simple  turns,"  he  urged.  " There  are 
52 


THE    INVADER 

plenty  here,"  and  he  held  up  a  book  in  his  hand  like 
the  one  she  had  found  in  her  own  black  bag.  But 
it  had  "Ian  Stewart,  Durham  College,"  written 
clearly  on  the  outside. 

"So  that's  Stewart!"  thought  Milly;  and  she 
could  not  help  laughing  at  her  own  thoughts,  which 
had  created  him  in  a  different  image. 

Stewart  did  not  know  why  she  laughed,  but  he 
found  the  sound  and  sight  of  the  laugh  new  and 
charming. 

"It's  awfully  kind  of  you  to  undertake  my 
education  in  another  branch,  Mr.  Stewart,"  she 
answered,  pouting,  "in  spite  of  having  found  out 
that  I'm  not  at  all  clever." 

She  smiled  at  him  mutinously,  sweeping  towards 
the  orange  with  head  thrown  back  over  her  left 
shoulder.  Momentarily  the  poise  of  her  head  re 
called  the  attitude  of  the  portrait  of  Lady  Ham- 
merton,  beckoning  her  unseen  companions  to  that 
far-off  mysterious  mountain  country,  where  the 
torrents  shine  so  whitely  through  the  mist  and  the 
red  line  of  sunset  speaks  of  coming  night. 

Stewart  colored,  slightly  confused.  This  brutal 
statement  did  not  seem  to  him  to  represent  the  just 
and  candid  account  he  had  given  Miss  Walker  of 
Miss  Flaxman's  abilities. 

"Some  one's  been  misreporting  me,  I  see,"  he 
returned.  "But  anyhow,  on  the  ice,  Miss  Flax- 
man,  it's  you  who  are  the  Professor;  I  who  am 
the  pupil.  So  I  offer  you  a  fair  revenge." 

Accordingly,  Mildred  soon  found  herself  placed 
at  a  due  distance  from  the  orange,  with  Stewart 

S3 


THE    INVADER 

equally  distant  from  it  on  the  other  side.  After  a 
few  minutes  of  extreme  uneasiness,  she  discovered 
that  although  she  had  to  halt  at  each  fresh  call,  she 
had  a  kind  of  mechanical  familiarity  with  the  simple 
figures  which  he  gave  her. 

Stewart,  though  learned,  was  human;  and  to 
sweep  now  at  the  opposite  pole  to  his  companion, 
now  with  a  swing  of  clasping  hands  at  the  centre 
of  their  delightful  dance,  his  eyes  always  perforce 
on  his  charming  partner,  and  her  eyes  on  him, 
undeniably  raised  the  pleasure  of  skating  to  a 
higher  power  than  if  he  had  circled  the  orange  in 
company  with  mere  man. 

So  they  fleeted  the  too-short  time  in  the  sparkling 
blue  and  white  world,  drinking  the  air  like  celestial 
wine. 

The  Festival  of  the  Frost  had  fallen  in  the  Christ 
mas  Vacation,  and  Oxford  society  in  vacation  is 
essentially  different  from  that  of  Term-time,  when 
it  is  overflowed  by  men  who  are  but  birds  of  passage, 
coming  no  one  inquires  whence,  and  flitting  few 
know  whither.  The  party  that  picnicked,  played 
hockey,  danced  and  figured  on  their  skates  through 
the  weeks  of  the  frost,  was  in  those  days  almost 
like  a  family  party.  So  it  happened  that  Ian 
Stewart  met  the  new  Miss  Flaxman  in  an  atmos 
phere  of  friendly  ease  that  years  of  term-time 
society  would  not  have  afforded  him.  How  new 
she  was  he  did  not  guess,  but  supposed  the  change 
to  be  in  his  own  eyes.  Other  people,  however,  saw 
it.  Her  very  skating  was  different.  It  had  gained 
in  grace  and  vigor,  but  she  was  seldom  seen  wooing 

54 


THE    INVADER 

the  serious  and  lonely  orange  around  which  Milly 
had  acquired  the  skill  that  Mildred  now  enjoyed. 
On  the  contrary,  she  initiated  an  epidemic  of 
frivolity  on  the  ice  in  the  shape  of  waltzing  and 
hand-in-hand  figures  in  general. 

Ian  Stewart,  too,  neglected  the  orange  and  went 
in  for  hand-in-hand  figures  that  season.  Other 
things,  too,  he  neglected ;  work,  which  he  had  never 
before  allowed  to  suffer  measurably  from  causes 
within  his  control;  and  far  from  blushing  for  his 
idleness,  he  rejoiced  in  it,  as  the  surest  sign  of  all 
that  for  him  the  Festival  of  Spring  had  come  in 
the  time  of  nature's  frost. 

It  was  not  only  the  crisp  air,  the  frequent  sun, 
the  joyous  flights  over  the  ringing  ice  that  made 
his  blood  run  faster  through  his  veins  and  laugh 
ter  come  more  easily  to  his  lips ;  that  aroused  him 
in  the  morning  with  a  strange  sense  of  delight,  as 
though  some  spirit  had  awakened  him  with  a  glad 
reveille  at  the  window  of  his  soul.  He,  too,  was  in 
Arcady.  That  in  itself  should  be  sufficient  joy; 
he  knew  he  must  restrain  his  impatience  for  more. 
Not  till  the  summer,  when  the  lady  of  his  heart  had 
ceased  to  be  also  his  pupil,  must  he  make  avowal  of 
his  love. 

Mildred  on  her  part  found  Stewart  the  most  at 
tractive  of  the  men  with  whom  she  was  acquaint 
ed.  As  yet  in  this  new  existence  of  hers,  she  had  not 
moved  outside  the  Oxford  circle — a  circle  exception 
al  in  England,  because  in  it  intellectual  eminence, 
not  always  recognized,  when  recognized  receives  as 
much  honor  as  is  accorded  to  a  great  fortune  or  a 

55 


THE  INVADER 

great  name  in  ordinary  society.  Stewart's  abilities 
were  of  a  kind  to  be  recognized  by  the  Academic 
world.  He  was  already  known  in  the  Universities 
of  the  Continent  and  America.  Oxford  was  proud 
of  him;  and  although  Mildred  had  no  desire  to 
marry  as  yet,  it  gratified  her  taste  and  her  vanity 
to  win  him  for  a  lover. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MELDRED  had  had  no  desire  to  spend  her 
vacations  with  Lady  Thomson,  and  on  the 
ground  of  her  reading  for  the  Schools,  had  been 
allowed  to  spend  them  in  Oxford.  Tims,  who  had 
no  relations,  remained  with  her.  She  had  for 
Mildred  a  sentiment  almost  like  that  of  a  parent, 
besides  an  admiration  for  which  she  was  slightly 
ashamed,  feeling  it  to  be  something  of  a  slur  on  the 
memory  of  Milly,  her  first  and  kindest  friend. 

Mildred  had  recovered  her  memory  for  most 
things,  but  the  facts  of  her  former  life  were  still 
a  blank  to  her.  She  had  begun  to  work  for  her 
First  in  order  to  evade  Aunt  Beatrice;  but  the 
fever  of  it  grew  upon  her,  either  from  the  ambient 
air  of  the  University  or  from  a  native  passion  to 
excel  in  all  she  did.  Her  teachers  were  bewildered 
by  the  mental  change  in  Miss  Flaxman.  The 
qualities  of  intellectual  swiftness,  vigor,  pliancy, 
whose  absence  they  had  once  noted  in  her,  became, 
on  the  contrary,  conspicuously  hers.  Once  ini 
tiated  into  the  tricks  of  the  "Great  Essay"  style, 
she  could  use  it  with  a  dexterity  strangely  in  con 
trast  with  the  flat  and  fumbling  manner  in  which 
poor  Milly  had  been  wont  to  express  her  ideas. 
But  in  the  region  of  actual  knowledge,  she  now 

57 


THE    INVADER 

and  again  perpetrated  some  immense  and  childish 
blunder,  which  made  the  teachers,  who  nursed  and 
trained  her  like  a  jockey  or  a  race-horse,  tremble 
for  the  results  of  the  Greats  Examination. 

All  too  swiftly  the  date  of  the  Schools  loomed 
on  the  horizon;  drew  near;  was  come.  The  June 
weather  was  glorious  on  the  river,  but  in  the  town, 
above  all  in  the  Examination  Schools,  it  was  very 
hot.  The  sun  glared  pitilessly  in  through  the  great 
windows  of  the  big  T-shaped  room,  till  the  tem 
perature  was  that  of  a  greenhouse.  The  young 
men  in  their  black  coats  and  white  ties  looked  en 
viously  at  the  girl  candidate,  the  only  one,  in  her 
white  waist  and  light  skirt.  They  envied  her,  too, 
her  apparent  indifference  to  a  crisis  that  paled  the 
masculine  cheek.  In  fact,  Mildred  was  nervous, 
but  her  nerves  were  strung  up  to  so  high  a  pitch 
that  she  was  sensitive  neither  to  temperature  nor 
to  fatigue,  nor  to  want  of  sleep.  And  at  the  service 
of  her  quick  intelligence  and  ready  pen  lay  all  the 
stored  knowledge  of  Milly  the  First. 

On  the  last  day,  when  the  last  paper  was  over, 
Tims  came  and  found  her  in  the  big  hall,  planting 
the  pins  in  her  hat  with  an  almost  feverish  energy. 
Although  it  was  five  o'clock,  she  said  she  wanted 
air,  not  tea.  The  last  men  had  trooped  listlessly 
down  the  steps  of  the  Schools  and  the  two  girls 
stood  there  while  Mildred  drew  on  her  gloves.  The 
sun  wearing  to  the  northwest,  shone  down  that 
curve  of  the  High  Street  which  all  Europe  cannot 
match.  The  slanting  gold  illumined  the  gray  face 
of  the  University  and  the  wide  pavement,  where 

58 


THE    INVADER 

the  black-gowned  victims  of  the  Schools  threaded 
their  sombre  way  through  groups  of  joyous  youths 
in  flannels  and  ladies  in  summer  attire.  On  the  op 
posite  side  cool  shadows  were  beginning  to  invade 
the  sunshine,  to  slant  across  the  old  houses,  straight- 
roofed  or  gabled,  the  paladian  pile  of  Queen's,  the 
mediaeval  front  of  All  Souls,  with  its  single  and  per 
fect  green  tree,  leading  up  to  the  consummation  of 
the  great  spire  of  St.  Mary's. 

Already,  from  the  tall  bulk  of  the  nave,  a  shadow 
fell  broad  across  the  pavement.  But  still  the  heat 
of  the  day  reverberated  from  the  stones  about  them. 
They  turned  down  to  the  Botanical  Gardens  and 
paced  that  gray  enclosure,  full  of  the  pride  of 
branches  and  the  glory  of  flowers  and  overhung  by 
the  soaring  vision  of  Magdalen  Tower.  Mildred 
was  walking  fast  and  talking  volubly  about  the 
Examination  and  everything  else. 

"Look  here,  old  girl,"  said  Tims  at  last,  when 
they  reached  for  the  second  time  the  seat  under  the 
willow  trellis,  "I'm  going  to  sit  down  here,  unless 
you'll  come  to  tea  at  Boffin's." 

"I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  returned  Mildred, 
seating  herself;  "or  to  have  tea  or  anything.  I 
want  to  be  just  going,  going,  going.  I  feel  as 
though  if  I  stop  for  a  minute  something  horrid  will 
happen." 

Tims  wrinkled  her  whole  face  anxiously. 

"Don't  do  that,  Tims,"  cried  Mildred,  sharply. 
"You  look  hideous." 

Tims  colored,  rose  and  walked  away.  She  sud 
denly  thought,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  of  the  old 

59 


THE    INVADER 

Milly  who  would  never  have  spoken  to  her  like  that. 
By  the  time  she  had  reached  the  little  basin  in  the 
middle  of  the  garden,  where  the  irises  grew,  Mildred 
had  caught  her  up. 

"Tims,  dear  old  Tims!  What  a  wretch  I  am! 
I  couldn't  help  letting  off  steam  on  something — 
you  don't  know  what  I  feel  like." 

Tims  allowed  herself  to  be  pacified,  but  in  her 
heart  there  remained  a  yearning  for  her  earlier 
and  gentler  friend — that  Milly  Flaxman  who  was 
certainly  not  dead,  yet  as  certainly  gone  out  of 
existence. 

It  was  towards  the  end  of  the  last  week  of  Term, 
and  the  gayeties  of  Commemoration  had  already 
begun.  Mildred  threw  herself  into  them  with 
feverish  enjoyment.  She  seemed  to  grudge  even 
the  hours  that  must  be  lost  in  the  unconsciousness 
of  sleep.  The  Iretons,  cousins  from  India,  who 
had  never  known  the  former  Milly,  took  a  house  in 
Oxford  for  a  week.  She  went  with  them  to  three 
College  balls  and  a  Masonic,  and  spent  the  days  in  a 
carnival  of  luncheon  and  boating-parties.  She  at 
tracted  plenty  of  admiration,  and  enjoyed  herself 
wildly,  yet  also  purposefully ;  because  she  was  trying 
to  get  rid  of  that  haunting  feeling  that  if  she  stopped 
a  minute  "something  horrid  would  happen." 

Stewart  meantime  was  rinding  love  not  so  en 
tirely  beautiful  and  delightful  a  thing  as  he  had  at 
first  imagined  it.  In  his  dreamy  way  he  had  over 
looked  the  fact  of  Commemoration,  and  planned 
when  Term  was  over  to  find  Mildred  constantly 
at  the  Fletchers'  and  to  be  able  to  arrange  quiet 

60 


THE    INVADER 

days  on  the  river.  But  if  he  found  her  there,  she 
was  always  in  company,  and  though  she  made  her 
self  as  charming  to  him  as  usual,  she  showed  no 
disposition  to  forsake  all  others  and  cleave  only  to 
him.  He  was  not  a  dancing  man,  and  suffered 
cruelly  on  the  evenings  when  he  knew  her  to  be  at 
balls,  and  fancied  all  her  partners  in  love  with 
her. 

But  on  the  Thursday  after  Commemoration,  the 
Fletchers  gave  a  strawberry  tea  at  Wytham,  as  a 
farewell  festivity  to  their  cousins.  And  Ian  Stewart 
was  there.  With  Mrs.  Fletcher's  connivance,  he 
took  Mildred  home  alone  in  a  canoe,  by  the  deep 
and  devious  stream  which  runs  under  Wytham 
woods.  She  went  on  talking  with  a  vivacious 
gayety  which  was  almost  foolish.  He  saw  that  it 
was  unreal  and  that  her  nerves  were  at  high  tension. 
His  own  were  also.  He  did  not  intend  to  propose 
to  her  that  day;  but  he  could  no  longer  restrain 
himself,  and  he  began  to  speak  to  her  of  his  love. 

"Hush!"  she  cried,  with  a  vehement  gesture. 
"Not  to-day!  oh,  not  to-day!  I  can't  bear  it!" 
She  put  her  head  on  her  knee  and  moaned  again, 
"Not  to-day,  I'm  too  tired,  I  really  am.  I  can't 
bear  it." 

This  was  all  the  answer  he  could  get,  and  her 
manner  left  him  in  complete  uncertainty  as  to 
whether  she  meant  to  accept  or  to  refuse  him. 

Tims  had  been  at  the  strawberry  tea  too,  and 
came  into  Mildred's  room  in  the  evening,  curious 
to  know  what  had  happened.  She  found  Mildred 
without  a  light,  sitting,  or  rather  lying  in  a  wicker 

61 


THE    INVADER 

chair.  When  the  candle  was  lighted  she  saw  that 
Mildred  was  very  pale  and  shivering. 

"You're  overtired,  my  girl,"  she  said.  "That's 
what's  the  matter  with  you." 

" Oh,  Tims,"  moaned  Mildred.  "  I  feel  so  ill  and 
so  frightened.  I  know  something  horrid 's  going  to 
happen — I  know  it  is." 

"  Don't  be  a  donkey, ' '  returned  Tims.  "  I'll  help 
you  undress  and  then  you  turn  in.  You'll  be  as 
jolly  as  a  sandboy  to-morrow." 

But  Mildred  was  crying  tremulously.  "  Oh,  Tims, 
how  dreadful  it  would  be  to  die!" 

"Idiot!"  cried  Tims,  and  shook  Mildred  with  all 
her  might.  Mildred's  tiny  sobs  turned  into  a  shriek 
of  laughter. 

"My  goodness!"  ejaculated  Tims;  "you're  in 
hysterics!" 

"  I  know  I  am,"  gasped  Mildred.  "  I  was  laugh 
ing  to  think  of  what  Aunt  Beatrice  would  say." 
And  she  giggled  amid  her  tears. 

Tims  insisted  on  her  rising  from  the  chair,  un 
dressing,  and  getting  into  bed.  Then  she  sat  by 
her  in  the  half -dark,  waiting  for  the  miserable  tears 
to  leave  off. 

"  Don't  cry,  old  girl,  don't  cry.  Go  to  sleep  and 
forget  all  about  it,"  she  kept  repeating,  almost 
mechanically. 

At  length  leaning  over  the  bed  she  saw  that 
Mildred  was  asleep,  lying  straight  on  her  bed  with 
her  feet  crossed  and  her  hands  laid  on  her  bosom. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A30UT  noon  on  Friday  Milly  Flaxman  awoke. 
She  lay  very  quiet,  sleepy  and  comfortable, 
her  eyes  fixed  idly  on  a  curve  in  the  jessamine- 
pattern  paper  opposite  her  bed.  The  windows 
were  wide  open,  the  blinds  down  and  every  now 
and  again  flapping  softly,  as  a  capricious  little 
breeze  went  by,  whispering  through  the  leafy  trees 
outside.  There  seemed  nothing  unusual  in  that; 
she  always  slept  with  her  windows  open.  But  as 
her  senses  emerged  from  those  mists  which  lie  on 
the  surface  of  the  river  of  sleep,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  balmy  warmth  in  the  room,  of  an  impression 
of  bright  sunshine  behind  the  dark  blinds,  and  of 
noises  from  the  streets  reaching  her  with  a  kind  of 
sharpness  associated  with  sunshine.  She  sat  up, 
looked  at  her  watch,  and  was  shocked  to  find  how 
late  she  had  slept.  She  must  have  missed  a  lecture. 
Then  the  recollection  of  the  dinner-party  at  the 
Fletchers',  the  verdict  of  Mr.  Stewart  on  her  chance 
of  a  First,  and  her  own  hysterical  outburst  returned 
to  her,  overpowering  all  outward  impressions.  She 
felt  calm  and  well  now,  but  unhappy  and  ashamed 
of  herself.  She  put  her  feet  out  of  bed  and  looked 
round  mechanically  for  her  dressing-gown  and 
slippers.  Their  absence  was  unimportant,  for  no 

63 


THE    INVADER 

sense  of  chill  struck  through  her  thin  night-gown  to 
her  warm  body,  and  going  to  the  window,  she  drew 
up  the  blind. 

The  high  June  sun  struck  full  upon  her,  hot 
and  dazzling,  but  not  so  dazzling  that  she  could 
not  see  the  row  of  garden  trees  through  whose 
bare  branches  she  had  yesterday  descried  the 
squalid  roofs  of  the  town.  They  were  spreading 
now  in  a  thick  screen  of  fresh  green  leaves.  She 
leaned  out,  as  though  further  investigation  might 
explain  the  phenomenon,  and  saw  a  red  standard 
rose  in  full  flower  under  her  window.  The  thing 
was  exactly  like  a  dream,  and  she  tried  to  wake 
up  but  could  not.  She  was  panic-stricken  and 
trembling.  Had  she  been  very,  very  ill?  Was  it 
possible  to  be  unconscious  for  six  months?  She 
looked  at  herself  in  a  dressing-glass  near  the  win 
dow,  which  she  had  never  placed  there,  and  saw 
that  she  was  pale  and  had  dark  marks  under  her 
eyes,  but  not  more  so  than  had  been  the  case  in  that 
yesterday  so  strangely  and  mysteriously  removed 
in  time.  Her  slender  white  arms  and  throat  were 
as  rounded  as  usual.  And  if  she  had  been  ill,  why 
was  she  left  alone  like  this  ?  She  found  a  dressing- 
gown  not  her  own,  and  went  on  a  voyage  of  dis 
covery.  But  the  other  rooms  on  her  floor  were  dis 
mantled  and  tenantless.  The  girls  were  gone  and 
the  servants  were  "cleaning"  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  College.  She  felt  incapable  of  getting  into  bed 
again  and  waiting  for  some  one  to  come,  so  she  be 
gan  dressing  herself  with  trembling  hands.  Every 
detail  increased  the  sense  of  strangeness.  There 

64 


THE    INVADER 

were  a  number  of  strange  clothes,  ball-dresses  and 
others,  hanging  in  her  cupboard,  strange  odds 
and  ends  thrust  confusedly  into  her  bureau.  She 
found  at  length  a  blue  cotton  frock  of  her  own, 
which  seemed  just  home  from  the  wash.  She  had 
twisted  up  her  hair  and  was  putting  on  the  blue 
frock,  when  she  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs,  and 
paused  with  beating  heart.  Who  was  coming? 
How  would  the  mystery  be  resolved?  The  door 
opened  and  Tims  came  in — the  old  Tims,  wrinkled 
face,  wig,  and  old  straw  hat  on  one  side  as  usual. 

"Tims!"  cried  Milly,  flying  towards  her  and 
speaking  with  pale  lips.  "  Please,  please  tell  me — 
what  has  happened  ?  Have  I  been  very  ill  ?"  And 
she  stared  in  Tims's  face  with  a  tragic  mask  of 
terror  and  anxiety. 

"Now  take  it  easy — take  it  easy,  M.,  my  girl!" 
cried  Tims,  giving  her  a  great  squeeze  and  a  clap 
on  the  shoulder.  "I'm  jolly  glad  to  see  you  back. 
But  don't  let's  have  any  more  of  your  hysterics. 
No,  never  no  more!" 

"Have  I  been  away?"  asked  Milly,  her  lips  still 
trembling. 

"I  should  think  you  had!"  exclaimed  Tims. 
"But  nobody  knows  it  except  me.  Don't  forget 
that.  Here's  a  note  for  you  from  old  B.  Read  it 
first  or  we  shall  both  forget  all  about  it.  She  had 
to  go  away  early  this  morning." 

Milly  opened  the  note  and  read: 

"DEAR  MILLY, — I  am  sorry  not  to  say  good-bye,  but 
glad  you  are  sleeping  off  your  fatigue.  I  want  to  tell  you, 
between  ourselves,  not  to  go  on  worrying  about  the  results 


THE    INVADER 

of  the  Schools,  as  I  think  you  are  doing,  in  spite  of  your 
pretences  to  the  contrary.  I  hear  you  have  done  at  least 
one  brilliant  paper,  and  although  I,  of  course,  know  nothing 
certain,  I  believe  you  and  the  College  will  have  reason 
to  rejoice  when  the  list  comes  out. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"MARY  BURT." 

"What  does  it  mean? — oh,  what  can  it  mean?" 
faltered  Milly,  holding  out  the  missive  to  Tims. 

"It  means  you've  been  in  for  Greats,  my  girl, 
and  done  first-rate.  But  the  strain's  been  a  bit  too 
much  for  you,  and  you've  had  another  collapse  of 
memory.  You  had  one  in  the  end  of  November. 
You've  been  uncommonly  well  ever  since,  and 
worked  like  a  Trojan,  but  you've  not  been  quite 
your  usual  self,  and  I'm  glad  you've  come  right 
again,  old  girl.  Let  me  tell  you  the  whole  business. ' ' 

Tims  did  so.  She  wanted  social  tact,  but  she 
had  the  tact  of  the  heart  which  made  her  hide  from 
Milly  how  very  different,  how  much  more  brilliant 
and  attractive  Milly  the  Second  had  been  than  her 
normal  self.  She  only  made  her  friend  feel  that 
the  curious  episode  had  entailed  no  disgrace,  but 
that  somehow  in  her  abnormal  condition  she  had 
done  well  in  the  Schools,  and  probably  touched  the 
top  of  her  ambition. 

"But  I  don't  feel  as  though  it  had  been  quite 
straightforward  to  hide  it  up  so,"  said  Milly.  "I 
shall  write  and  tell  Miss  Burt  and  Aunt  Beatrice, 
and  tell  the  Fletchers  when  I  go  to  them." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  you  stupid," 
snapped  Tims.  "You'll  be  simply  giving  me  away 

66 


THE    INVADER 

if  you  do.  What  is  the  good?  It  won't  happen 
again  unless  you're  idiot  enough  to  overwork  your 
self  again.  Very  likely  not  then;  for,  as  an  open- 
minded,  scientific  woman,  I  believe  it  to  have  been 
a  case  of  hypnotism,  and  in  France  and  the  United 
States  they'd  have  thought  it  a  very  interesting 
one.  But  in  England  people  are  so  prejudiced 
they'd  say  you'd  simply  been  out  of  your  mind; 
although  that  wouldn't  prevent  them  from  blam 
ing  me  for  hynotizing  you." 

While  Tims  spoke  thus,  there  was  a  knocking 
without,  and  a  maid  delivered  a  note  for  Miss 
Flaxman.  Milly  held  it  in  her  hands  and  studied 
it  musingly  before  opening  the  envelope.  Her 
pale,  troubled  face  colored  and  grew  more  serious. 
Tims  had  not  mentioned  Ian  Stewart,  but  Milly 
had  not  forgotten  him  or  his  handwriting.  Tims 
knew  it  too.  She  restrained  her  excitement  while 
Milly  turned  her  back  and  stood  by  the  window 
reading  the  note.  She  must  have  read  them 
several  times  over,  the  two  sides  of  the  sheet  in 
scribed  with  Stewart's  small,  scholarly  handwrit 
ing,  before  she  turned  her  transfigured  face  towards 
the  anxiously  expectant  Tims. 

"Tims,  dear,"  she  said  at  length,  smiling  trem 
ulously,  and  laying  tremulous  hands  on  Tims's  two 
thin  shoulders — "dear  old  Tims,  why  didn't  you 
tell  me?" 

"Tell  you  what?"  asked  Tims,  grinning  delight 
edly.  Milly  threw  her  arms  round  her  friend's 
neck  and  hid  her  happy  tears  and  blushes  between 
Tims's  ear  and  shoulder. 

67 


THE    INVADER 

"Mr.  Stewart — it  seems  too  good  to  be  true — he 
loves  me,  he  really  does.  He  wants  me  to  be  his 
wife." 

Most  girls  would  have  hugged  and  kissed  Milly, 
and  Tims  did  hug  her,  but  instead  of  kissing  her, 
she  banged  and  slapped  her  back  and  shoulders 
hard  all  over,  shaking  the  while  with  deep  internal 
chuckles.  It  hurt,  but  Milly  did  not  mind,  for  it 
was  sympathy.  Presently  she  drew  herself  away, 
and  wiping  her  damp  eyes,  said,  smiling  shyly: 

"  He's  never  guessed  how  much  I  care  about  him. 
I'm  so  glad.  He  says  he  doesn't  wonder  at  my 
hesitation  and  talks  about  others  more  worthy  to 
love  me.  But  you  know  there  isn't  any  one  ex 
cept  Mr.  Toovey.  Poor  Mr.  Toovey !  I  do  hope  I 
haven't  behaved  very  badly  to  him." 

"Never  mind  Toovey,"  chuckled  Tims.  "Any 
how,  Milly,  I've  got  a  good  load  off  my  mind.  I 
didn't  half  like  having  put  that  other  girl  into  your 
boots.  However,  you've  come  back,  and  every 
thing's  going  to  be  all  right." 

"All  right!"  breathed  Milly.  "Why,  Tims,  dar 
ling,  I  never  thought  any  one  in  the  world  could  be 
half  so  happy  as  I  am." 

And  Tims  left  Milly  to  write  the  answer  for  which 
Ian  Stewart  was  so  anxiously  waiting. 

The  engagement  proceeded  after  the  manner  of 
engagements.  No  one  was  surprised  at  it  and  ev 
ery  one  was  pleased.  The  little  whirlpool  of  talk 
that  it  created  prevented  Milly 's  ignorance  of  the 
events  of  the  past  six  or  seven  months  from  coming 

68 


THE    INVADER 

to  the  surface.  She  lay  awake  at  night,  devising 
means  of  telling  Ian  about  this  strange  blank  in 
her  life.  But  she  shrank  from  saying  things  that 
might  make  him  suspect  her  of  an  unsound  mind. 
She  had  plainly  been  sane  enough  in  her  abnormal 
state,  and  there  was  no  doubt  of  her  sanity  now. 
She  told  him  she  had  had  since  the  autumn,  and 
still  had,  strange  collapses  of  memory ;  and  he  said 
that  quite  explained  some  peculiarities  of  her  work. 
She  tried  to  talk  to  him  about  French  experiments 
in  hypnotism,  and  how  it  was  said  sometimes  to 
bring  to  light  unsuspected  sides  of  a  personality. 
But  he  laughed  at  hypnotism  as  a  mixture  of  fraud 
and  hysteria.  So  with  many  searchings  of  heart, 
she  dropped  the  subject. 

She  was  staying  at  the  Fletchers'  and  saw  Ian 
every  day.  He  was  all  that  she  could  wish  as  a 
lover,  and  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  ask  whether 
he  felt  all  that  he  himself  could  have  wished  as  such. 
He  was  very  fond  of  Milly  and  quite  content  with 
her,  but  not  perfectly  content  with  himself.  He 
supposed  he  must  at  bottom  be  one  of  those  or 
dinary  and  rather  contemptible  men  who  care 
more  for  the  excitement  of  the  chase  than  for 
the  object  of  it.  But  he  felt  sure  he  was  really  a 
very  lucky  fellow,  and  determined  not  to  give  way 
to  the  self -analysis  which  is  always  said  to  be  the 
worst  enemy  of  happiness. 

Miss  Flaxman  had  been  the  only  woman  in  for 
Greats,  and  as  a  favor  she  was  taken  first  in  viva 
voce.  The  questions  were  directed  to  probing  her 
actual  knowledge  in  places  where  she  had  made 

69 


THE    INVADER 

one  or  two  amazing  blunders.  But  she  emerged 
triumphant,  and  went  in  good  spirits  to  Clewes, 
Aunt  Beatrice's  country  home  in  the  North,  whither 
Ian  Stewart  shortly  followed  her.  Beyond  the  fact 
that  she  wore  perforce  and  with  shame,  not  having 
money  to  buy  others,  frocks  which  Lady  Thomson 
disapproved,  she  was  once  more  the  adoring  niece 
to  whom  her  aunt  was  accustomed.  And  Lady 
Thomson  liked  Ian.  She  never  expected  men  to 
share  her  fads. 

In  due  time  came  the  announcement  of  the  First, 
bringing  almost  as  many  congratulatory  letters  as 
the  engagement.  And  on  August  2d  Milly  sailed  for 
Australia,  where  she  was  to  spend  two  or  three 
months  with  her  family. 

In  October  the  newspapers  announced  that  the 
marriage  of  Miss  Mildred  Beatrice  Flaxman,  eldest 
daughter  of  the  Dean  of  Stirling,  South  Australia, 
with  Mr.  Ian  Stewart,  Fellow  of  Durham  College, 
Oxford,  would  take  place  at  Oxford  in  the  second 
week  in  December. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MADAME  dort  toujours!"  The  dark -eyed, 
cherry  cheeked,  white-capped  chamber-maid 
of  the  Hotel  du  Chalet  made  the  statement  to  the 
manager,  who  occupied  a  glass  case  in  the  hall. 
"  She  must  have  been  very  tired  yesterday,  pauvre 
petite!" 

The  manager  answered  phlegmatically  in  French 
with  a  German  accent: 

"  So  much  the  better  if  she  sleeps.  She  does  not 
eat.  When  the  gentleman  went  out  he  wanted 
sanveeches  to  put  in  his  pocket.  One  does  not 
want  sanveeches  when  one  sleeps." 

"All  the  same,  I  wish  she  would  wake  up.  It's 
so  odd  to  see  her  sleeping  like  that,"  returned  the 
cherry-cheeked  one;  and  passed  about  her  duties. 

The  dejeuner  was  over,  and  those  guests  who  had 
not  already  gone  out  for  the  day,  were  tramping 
about  the  bare,  wooden  passages  and  staircase, 
putting  on  knitted  gloves  and  shouting  for  their 
companions  and  toboggans.  But  it  was  not  till 
all  had  gone  out  and  their  voices  had  died  away 
on  the  clear,  cold  air,  that  the  sleeper  in  No.  19 
awoke.  For  a  while  she  lay  with  open  eyes  as 
still  as  though  she  were  yet  sleeping.  But  sudden 
ly  she  started  up  in  bed  and  looked  around  her 

71 


THE    INVADER 

with  frowning,  startled  attention.  She  was  in  a 
rather  large,  bare  bedroom  with  varnished  green 
wood- work  and  furniture  and  a  green  pottery  stove. 
There  was  an  odd,  thick  paper  on  the  wall,  of  no 
particular  color,  and  a  painted  geometrical  pattern 
in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling.  It  was  a  neat  room, 
on  the  whole,  but  on  the  bed  beside  her  own  a  man's 
waistcoat  had  been  thrown,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  a  pair  of  long,  shabby  slippers  lay  a  yard  apart 
from  each  other  and  upside  down.  There  were 
other  little  signs  of  masculine  occupation.  A 
startled  movement  brought  her  sitting  up  on  the 
bedside. 

"Married!"  she  whispered  to  herself.  "How 
perfectly  awful!" 

A  fiery  wave  of  anger  that  was  almost  hate  swept 
through  her  veins,  anger  against  the  unknown 
husband  and  against  that  other  one  who  had  the 
power  thus  to  dispose  of  her  destiny,  while  she  lay 
helpless  in  some  unf athomed  deep  between  life  and 
death.  Swifter  than  light  her  thoughts  flew  back 
to  the  last  hours  of  consciousness  which  had  pre 
ceded  that  strange  and  terrible  engulfment  of  her 
being.  She  remembered  that  Mr.  Stewart  had 
tried  to  propose  to  her  on  the  river  and  that  she  had 
not  allowed  him  to  do  so.  Probably  he  had  taken 
this  as  a  refusal.  She  knew  nothing  of  any  love 
of  Milly's  for  him;  only  was  sure  that  he  had  not 
been  in  love  with  her,  Mildred,  when  she  first  knew 
him;  therefore  had  not  cared  for  her  other  per 
sonality.  Who  else  was  possible?  With  an  au 
dible  cry  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

72 


THE    INVADER 

"  Toovey !    Archibald  Toovey  i" 

The  idea  was  monstrous,  it  was  also  grotesque; 
and  even  while  she  plunged  despairing  fingers  in  her 
hair,  she  laughed  so  loud  that  she  might  have  been 
heard  in  the  corridor. 

"Mrs.  Archibald  Toovey!  Good  Heavens!  But 
that  girl  was  perfectly  capable  of  it." 

Then  she  became  more  than  serious  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  thinking. 

"  If  it  is  Mr.  Toovey,"  she  thought,  "  I  must  go 
away  at  once,  wherever  I  am.  I  can't  have  been 
married  long.  I  am  sure  to  have  some  money  some 
where.  I'll  go  to  Tims.  Oh,  that  brute!  That 
idiot!" — she  was  thinking  of  Milly — "  How  I  should 
like  to  strangle  her!" 

She  clinched  her  hands  till  the  nails  hurt  her 
palms.  Two  photographs,  propped  up  on  the  top 
of  a  chest  of  drawers,  caught  her  eye.  She  snatched 
them.  One  was  a  wedding  group,  but  there  was 
no  bridegroom;  only  six  bridesmaids.  It  was  as 
bad  as  such  things  always  are,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  dresses  were  ill-fitting,  the  hats  absurd. 
Tims  was  prominent  among  the  bridesmaids, 
looking  particularly  ugly.  The  other  photograph 
might  have  seemed  pretty  to  a  less  prejudiced  eye. 
It  was  that  of  a  slight,  innocent-looking  girl  in  a 
white  satin  gown,  "ungirt  from  throat  to  hem," 
and  holding  a  sheaf  of  lilies  in  her  hand.  Her 
hair  was  loose  upon  her  shoulders,  crowned  with  a 
fragile  garland  and  covered  with  a  veil  of  fine  lace. 

"What  a  Judy!"  commented  Mildred, throwing 
the  photograph  fiercely  away  from  her.  "Fancy 

73 


THE    INVADER 

my  being  married  in  a  dressing-gown  and  having 
Tims  for  a  bridesmaid!    Sickening!" 

But  her  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  bridegroom 
dominated  even  this  just  indignation.  Somehow, 
after  seeing  the  photographs,  she  was  convinced 
he  must  be  Archibald  Toovey.  She  determined 
to  fly  at  once.  The  question  was,  where  was  she  ? 
Not  in  England,  she  fancied.  The  stove  had  been 
thrice-heated  by  the  benevolent  cherry-cheeked 
one,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  was  stifling. 
This,  together  with  the  cold  outside,  had  combined 
to  throw  a  gray  veil  across  the  window-panes. 
She  hastily  put  on  a  blue  Pyrenean  wool  dressing- 
gown,  flung  open  a  casement  and  leaned  out  into 
the  wide  sunshine,  the  iced-champagne  air.  The 
window  was  only  on  the  first  floor,  and  she  saw  just 
beneath  a  narrow,  snowy  strip  of  ground,  on  either 
side  and  below  it  snow-sprinkled  pinewoods  fall 
ing,  falling  steeply,  as  it  were,  into  space.  But  far 
below  the  blue  air  deepened  into  a  sapphire  that  must 
be  a  lake,  and  beyond  that  gray  cliffs,  remote  yet 
fairly  clear  in  the  sunshine,  rose  streaked  with  the 
blue  shadows  of  their  own  buttresses.  Above  the 
cliffs,  white  and  sharp  and  fantastic  in  their  out 
line,  snowy  mountain  summits  showed  clear  against 
the  deep  blue  sky.  Between  them,  imperceptibly 
moving  on  its  secular  way,  hung  the  glacier,  a  track 
of  vivid  ultramarine  and  green,  looking  like  a  giant 
pathway  to  the  stars.  Mildred  guessed  she  was  in 
Switzerland.  She  knew  that  it  should  be  easy  to 
get  back  to  England,  yet  for  her  with  her  peculiar 
inexperience  of  life,  it  would  not  be  easy.  At  any 

74 


THE    INVADER 

rate,  she  would  dash  herself  down  some  gray 
precipice  into  that  lake  below  rather  than  remain 
here  as  the  bride  of  Archibald  Toovey.  Just  as 
she  was  registering  a  desperate  vow  to  that  effect 
a  man  came  climbing  up  the  woodland  way  to  the 
left,  a  long-legged  man  in  a  knickerbocker  suit  and 
gaiters.  He  stepped  briskly  out  of  the  pinewood 
on  to  the  snowy  platform  below,  and  seeing  her  at 
the  window,  looked  up,  smiling,  and  waved  his  cap, 
with  a  cry  of  "Hullo,  Millyl"  And  it  was  not 
Archibald  Toovey. 

Mildred,  relieved  from  the  worst  of  fears,  leaned 
from  the  window  towards  him.  A  slanting  ray 
caught  the  floating  cloud  of  her  amber  hair,  her 
face  glowed  rosily,  her  eyes  beamed  on  the  new 
comer,  and  she  broke  into  such  an  enchanting  ripple 
of  laughter  as  he  had  never  heard  from  those  soft 
lips  since  it  had  been  his  privilege  to  kiss  them. 
Then  something  happened  within  him.  Upon  his 
lonely  walk  he  had  been  overcome  by  a  depres 
sion  against  which  he  had  every  day  been  strug 
gling.  He  had  been  disappointed  in  his  mar 
riage,  now  some  weeks  old  —  disappointed,  that 
is,  with  himself,  because  of  his  own  incapacity  for 
rapturous  happiness.  Yet  a  year  ago  on  the  ice  at 
Oxford,  six  months  ago  in  the  falling  summer 
twilight  on  the  river,  under  Wytham  Woods,  he 
had  thought  himself  as  capable  as  any  man  of 
feeling  the  joys  and  pains  of  love.  In  the  sequel 
it  had  seemed  that  he  was  not;  and  just  as  he 
had  lost  all  hope  of  finding  once  again  that  buried 
treasure  of  his  heart,  it  had  returned  to  him  in  one 

75 


THE    INVADER 

delightful  moment,  when  he  stood  as  it  were  on  the 
top  of  the  world  in  the  crisp,  joyous  Alpine  air,  and 
his  eyes  met  the  eyes  of  his  young  wife,  who  leaned 
towards  him  into  the  sunshine  and  laughed.  He 
could  not  possibly  have  told  how  long  the  golden 
vision  endured;  only  that  suddenly,  precipitate 
ly,  it  withdrew.  A  "spirit  in  his  feet"  sent  him 
bounding  up  the  bare,  shallow  hotel  stairs,  two  steps 
at  a  time,  dropping  on  every  step  a  cake  of  snow 
from  his  boots,  to  melt  and  make  pools  on  the 
polished  wood.  The  manager,  who  respected  none 
of  his  guests  except  those  who  bullied  him,  called 
out  a  reprimand,  but  received  no  apology. 

Stewart  strode  with  echoing  tread  down  the  cor 
ridor  towards  No.  19,  eager  to  hold  that  slender, 
girlish  wife  of  his  in  his  arms  and  to  press  kisses  on 
the  lips  that  had  laughed  at  him  so  sweetly  from 
above.  The  walls  of  the  hotel  were  thin,  and  as  he 
approached  the  door  he  heard  a  quick,  soft  scurry 
across  the  room  on  the  other  side,  and  in  his  swift 
thought  saw  Milly  flying  to  meet  him,  just  relieved 
from  one  absurd  anxiety  about  his  safety  and  in 
dulging  another  on  the  subject  of  his  wet  feet.  A 
smile  of  tender  amusement  visited  his  lips  as  he 
took  hold  of  the  door-handle.  Exactly  as  he  touch 
ed  it,  the  key  on  the  other  side  turned.  The  lock 
had  been  stiff,  but  it  had  shot  out  in  the  nick  of 
time,  and  he  found  himself  brought  up  short  in  his 
impulsive  career  and  hurtling  against  a  solid  barrier. 
He  knocked,  but  no  one  answered.  He  could  have 
fancied  he  heard  panting  breaths  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ill-fitting  door. 

76 


THE    INVADER 

"Mayn't  I  come  in,  darling?"  he  asked,  gently, 
but  with  a  shade  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"No,  you  can't,"  returned  Milly's  voice;  hers, 
but  with  an  accent  of  coldness  and  decision  in  it 
which  struck  strangely  on  his  ear.  He  paused,  be 
wildered.  Then  he  remembered  how  often  he  had 
read  that  women  were  capricious,  unaccountable 
creatures.  Milly  had  made  him  forget  that.  Her 
attitude  towards  him  had  been  one  of  unvarying 
gentleness  and  devotion.  Vaguely  he  felt  that  there 
was  a  kind  of  feminine  charm  in  this  sudden  burst 
of  coldness,  almost  indifference. 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  dear?"  he  asked. 
"Aren't  you  well?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,"  came  the  curt  voice 
through  the  door.  Then  after  a  minute's  hesita 
tion:  "What  do  you  want?" 

Ian  smiled  to  himself  as  he  answered : 

" My  feet  are  wet.     I  want  to  change." 

He  was  a  delicate  man,  and  if  he  had  a  foible 
which  Milly  could  be  said  to  execrate,  it  was  that 
of  "sitting  in  wet  feet."  He  expected  the  door  to 
fly  open;  but  it  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  There 
was  not  a  trace  of  anxiety  in  the  grudging  voice 
which  replied,  after  a  pause: 

"I  suppose  you  want  dry  shoes  and  stockings. 
I'll  give  them  to  you  if  you'll  wait." 

He  stood  bewildered,  a  little  pained,  not  noticing 
the  noisy  opening  and  shutting  of  several  ill-fitting 
drawers  in  the  room.  Yet  Milly  always  put  away 
his  things  for  him  and  should  have  known  where 
to  find  them.  The  door  opened  a  chink  and  the 

77 


THE    INVADER 

shoes  and  stockings  came  flying  through  on  to  the 
passage  floor.  He  had  a  natural  impulse  to  use  his 
masculine  strength,  to  push  the  door  open  before 
she  could  lock  it  again,  but  fortunately  he  restrain 
ed  it.  He  went  down -stairs  slowly,  shoes  and 
stockings  in  hand;  threw  them  down  behind  the 
big  green  stove  in  the  smoking-room  and  lighted  a 
meditative  pipe.  It  was  evidently  a  fact  that  wom 
en  were  difficult  to  understand;  even  Milly  was. 
He  had  been  uniformly  kind  and  tender  to  her,  and 
so  far  she  had  seemed  more  than  content  with  him 
as  a  husband.  But  beneath  this  apparent  hap 
piness  of  hers  had  some  instinct,  incomprehensible 
to  him,  been  whispering  to  her  that  he  did  not  love 
her  as  many  men,  perhaps  most,  loved  their  young 
wives  ?  That  he  had  felt  for  her  no  ardor,  no  wor 
ship  ?  If  so,  then  the  crisis  had  come  at  the  right 
moment;  at  the  moment  when,  by  one  of  those 
tricks  of  nature  which  make  us  half  acquiesce  in  the 
belief  that  our  personality  is  an  illusion,  that  we  are 
but  cosmic  automata,  the  power  of  love  had  been 
granted  to  him  again.  Yet  for  all  that — very 
fortunately,  seeing  that  the  crisis  was  more  acute 
than  he  was  aware — he  did  not  fancy  that  his  way 
lay  plain  before  him.  He  began  to  perceive  that 
the  cementing  of  a  close  union  between  a  man  and 
woman,  two  beings  with  so  abundant  a  capacity  for 
misunderstanding  each  other,  is  a  complex  and  deli 
cate  affair.  That  to  marry  is  to  be  a  kind  of  Odys 
seus  advancing  into  the  palace  of  a  Circe,  nobler 
and  more  humane  than  the  enchantress  of  old,  yet 
capable  also  of  working  strange  and  terrible  trans- 

78 


THE    INVADER 

formations.  That  many  go  in  there  carrying  in 
their  hands  blossoms  which  they  believe  to  be  moly ; 
but  the  true  moly  is  not  easy  to  distinguish.  And 
he  hoped  that  he  and  Milly,  in  their  different  ways, 
had  found  and  were  both  wearing  the  milk-white 
flower.  Yet  he  knew  that  this  was  a  matter  which 
must  be  left  to  the  arbitrament  of  time. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  their  return  to  Oxford  the  young  couple 
were  feted  beyond  the  common.  People  who 
had  known  Milly  Flaxman  in  earlier  days  were 
surprised  to  think  how  little  they  had  noticed  her 
beauty  or  guessed  what  a  fund  of  humor,  what 
an  extraordinary  charm,  had  lurked  beneath  the 
surface  of  her  former  quiet,  grave  manner.  The 
Master  of  Durham  alone  refused  to  be  surprised. 
He  merely  affirmed  in  his  short  squeak  that  he 
had  always  admired  Mrs.  Stewart  very  much.  She 
was  now  frequently  to  be  found  in  the  place  of 
honor  at  those  dinners  of  his,  where  distinguished 
visitors  from  London  brought  the  stir  and  color  of 
the  great  world  into  the  austere  groves,  the  rarefied 
atmosphere  of  Academe. 

Wherever  she  appeared,  the  vivid  personality  of 
Mrs.  Stewart  made  a  kind  of  effervescence  which 
that  indescribable  entity,  a  vivid  personality,  is 
sure  to  keep  fizzing  about  it.  She  was  devoutly 
admired,  fiercely  criticised,  and  asked  everywhere. 
It  is  true  she  had  quite  given  up  her  music,  but 
she  drew  caricatures  which  were  irresistibly  funny, 
and  was  a  tremendous  success  in  charades.  Every 
thing  was  still  very  new  to  her,  everything  inter 
esting  and  amusing.  She  was  enchanted  with  her 

80 


THE    INVADER 

house,  although  Milly  and  Lady  Thomson  had 
chosen  it,  preferring  to  a  villa  in  the  Parks  an  old 
gray  house  of  the  kind  that  are  every  day  reck 
lessly  destroyed  by  the  march  of  modern  vulgar 
ity.  She  approved  of  the  few  and  good  pieces  of 
old  furniture  with  which  they  had  provided  it ;  al 
though  Lady  Thomson  could  not  entirely  approve 
of  the  frivolity  and  extravagance  of  the  chintzes 
with  which  she  helped  the  sunshine  to  brighten 
the  low,  panelled  rooms.  But  Aunt  Beatrice,  girt 
with  principles  major  and  minor,  armed  with  so 
Procrustean  a  measure  for  most  of  her  acquaintance, 
accepted  Mildred's  deviations  with  an  astonishing 
ease.  The  secret  of  personal  magnetism  is  not  yet 
discovered.  It  may  be  that  the  aura  surrounding 
each  of  us  is  no  mystic  vision  of  the  Neo-Buddhists, 
but  a  physical  fact ;  that  Mildred's  personality  acted 
by  a  power  not  moral  but  physical  on  the  nerves 
of  those  who  approached  her,  exciting  those  of 
some,  of  the  majority,  pleasurably,  filling  others 
with  a  nameless  uneasiness,  to  account  for  which 
they  must  accuse  her  manners  or  her  character. 

To  Ian  Stewart  the  old  panelled  house  with  the 
walled  garden  behind,  where  snowdrops  and  cro 
cuses  pushed  up  under  budding  orchard  boughs, 
was  a  paradise  beyond  any  he  had  imagined.  He 
found  Mildred  the  most  adorable  of  wives,  the  most 
interesting  of  companions.  Her  defects  as  a 
housekeeper,  which  Aunt  Beatrice  noted  in  silence 
but  with  surprise,  were  nothing  to  him.  He  could 
not  help  pausing  sometimes  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  work,  to  wonder  at  his  own  good  fortune  and  to 

6  8l 


THE    INVADER 

reflect  that  whatever  the  future  might  have  in 
store,  he  would  have  no  right  to  complain,  since  it 
had  been  given  to  him  to  know  the  taste  of  perfect 
happiness. 

Since  his  marriage  he  had  been  obliged  to  take 
more  routine  work,  and  the  Long  Vacation  had  be 
come  more  valuable  to  him  than  ever.  As  soon  as 
he  had  finished  an  Examination  he  had  undertaken, 
he  meant  to  devote  the  time  to  the  preparation  of 
a  new  book  which  he  had  in  his  mind.  Mildred, 
seemingly  as  eager  as  himself  that  the  book  should 
be  done,  had  at  first  agreed.  Then  some  of  her 
numerous  friends  had  described  the  pleasures  of 
Dieppe,  and  she  was  seized  with  the  idea  that  they 
too  might  go  there.  Ian,  she  said,  could  work  as 
well  at  Dieppe  as  at  Oxford  or  in  the  country.  Ian 
knew  better ;  besides,  his  funds  were  low  and  Dieppe 
would  cost  too  much.  For  the  first  time  he  opposed 
Mildred's  wishes,  and  to  her  surprise  she  found  him 
perfectly  firm.  There  was  no  quarrel,  but  although 
she  was  silent  he  felt  that  she  did  not  yield  her  opin 
ion  and  was  displeased  with  him. 

Late  at  night  as  he  sat  over  Examination  papers, 
his  sensitive  imagination  framed  the  accusations  of 
selfishness,  pedantry,  scrupulosity,  which  his  wife 
might  be  bringing  against  him  in  the  "  sessions  of 
silent  thought;"  although  it  was  clearly  to  her  ad 
vantage  as  much  as  to  his  own  that  he  should  keep 
out  of  money  difficulties  and  do  work  which  count 
ed.  She  had  no  fixed  habits,  and  he  flung  down 
pipe  and  pen,  hoping  to  find  her  still  awake.  But 
she  was  already  sound  asleep.  The  room  was  dark, 

82 


THE    INVADER 

but  he  saw  her  by  the  illumination  of  distant 
lightning,  playing  on  the  edge  of  a  dark  and  sultry 
world.  His  appointed  task  was  not  yet  done  and 
he  returned  to  the  study,  a  long,  low,  dark-panelled 
room,  looking  on  the  garden.  The  windows  were 
wide  open  on  the  hushed,  warm,  almost  sulphu 
rous  darkness,  from  which  frail  white-winged  moths 
came  floating  in  towards  the  shaded  lamp  on  his 
writing-table.  He  sat  down  to  his  papers  and  by 
an  effort  of  will  concentrated  his  mind  upon  them. 
Habit  had  made  such  concentration  easy  to  him 
as  a  rule,  but  to-night,  after  half  an  hour  of  steady 
work,  he  was  mastered  by  an  invading  restlessness 
of  mind  and  body.  The  cause  was  not  far  to  seek; 
he  could  hear  all  the  time  he  worked  the  dull,  almost 
continuous,  roar  of  distant  thunder.  All  else  was 
very  still,  it  was  long  past  midnight  and  the  town 
was  asleep. 

He  got  up  and  paced  the  room  once  or  twice, 
grasping  his  extinguished  pipe  absently  in  his  hand. 
Suddenly  a  blast  seemed  to  spring  out  of  nowhere 
and  rush  madly  round  the  enclosed  garden,  tossing 
the  gnarled  and  leafy  branches  of  the  old  orchard 
trees  and  dragging  at  the  long  trails  of  creepers  on 
wall  and  trellis.  It  blew  in  at  the  windows,  hot 
as  from  the  heart  of  the  thunder-cloud,  and  waved 
the  curtains  before  it.  It  rushed  into  the  very 
midst  of  the  old  house  with  its  cavernous  chimneys, 
deep  cellars,  and  enormous  unexplored  walls,  filling 
it  with  strange,  whispering  sounds,  as  of  half  ar 
ticulate  voices,  here  menacing,  there  struggling  to 
reveal  some  sinister  and  vital  secret.  The  blast 

83 


THE    INVADER 

died  away,  but  it  seemed  to  have  left  those  voices 
still  muttering  and  sighing  through  the  walls  that 
had  sheltered  so  many  generations,  such  various 
lives  of  men.  Ian  was  used  to  the  creaking  and 
groaning  of  the  wood-work;  he  knew  how  on  the 
staircase  the  rising  of  the  boards,  which  had  been 
pressed  down  in  the  day,  simulated  ghostly  foot 
steps  in  the  night.  He  was  in  his  mental  self 
the  most  rational  of  mortals,  but  at  times  the 
Highland  strain  in  his  blood,  call  it  sensitive  or 
superstitious,  spoke  faintly  to  his  nerves — never 
before  so  strongly,  so  over-masteringly  as  to-night. 
A  blue  blaze  of  crooked  lightning  zigzagged  down 
the  outer  darkness  and  seemed  to  strike  the  earth 
but  a  little  beyond  the  garden  wall.  Following  on 
its  heels  a  tremendous  clap  of  thunder  burst,  as  it 
were,  on  the  very  chimneys.  The  solid  house  shook 
to  its  foundations.  But  the  tide  of  horrible,  irra 
tional  fear  which  swept  over  lan's  whole  being  was 
not  caused  by  this  mere  exaggerated  common 
place  of  nature.  He  could  give  no  guess  what 
it  was  that  caused  it ;  he  only  knew  that  it  was 
agony.  He  knew  what  it  meant  to  feel  the  hair  lift 
on  his  head;  he  knew  what  the  Psalmist  meant 
wrhen  he  said,  "My  bones  are  turned  to  water." 
And  as  he  stood  unable  to  move,  afraid  to  turn 
his  head,  abject  and  ashamed  of  his  abjectness, 
he  was  listening,  listening  for  he  knew  not 
what. 

At  length  it  came.  He  heard  the  stairs  creak 
and  a  soft  padding  footstep  coming  slowly  down 
them ;  with  it  the  brush  of  a  light  garment  and  in- 

84 


THE    INVADER 

termittently  a  faint  human  sound  between  a  sigh 
and  a  sob.  He  did  not  reflect  that  he  could  not 
really  have  heard  such  slight  sounds  through  a 
thick  stone  wall  and  a  closed  door.  He  heard  them. 
The  steps  stopped  at  the  door;  a  hand  seemed  feel 
ing  to  open  it,  and  again  there  was  a  painful  sigh. 
The  physical  terror  had  not  passed  from  him,  but 
the  sudden  though  that  it  was  his  wife  and  that 
she  was  frightened  or  ill,  made  him  able  to  master  it. 
He  seized  the  lamp,  because  he  knew  the  light  in  the 
hall  was  extinguished,  rushed  to  the  door,  opened 
it  and  looked  out.  There  was  no  one  there.  He 
made  a  hasty  but  sufficient  search  and  returned  to 
the  study. 

The  extremity  of  his  fear  was  now  passed,  but  an 
unpleasantly  eery  feeling  still  lingered  about  him 
and  he  had  a  very  definite  desire  to  find  himself  in 
some  warm,  human  neighborhood.  He  had  left  the 
door  open  and  was  arranging ,  the  papers  on  his 
writing-table,  when  once  again  he  heard  those  soft 
padding  feet  on  the  stairs ;  but  this  time  they  were 
much  heavier,  more  hurried,  and  stumbled  a  little. 
He  stood  bent  over  the  table,  a  bundle  of  papers  in 
his  hand,  no  longer  overcome  by  mortal  terror,  yet 
somehow  reluctant  once  more  to  look  out  and  to 
see  once  more — nothing.  There  was  a  sound  out 
side  the  door,  louder,  hoarser  than  the  faint  sob  or 
sigh  which  he  had  heard  before,  and  he  seized  the 
lamp  and  turned  towards  it.  Before  he  had  made 
a  step  forward,  the  door  was  pushed  violently  back 
and  his  wife  came  in,  leaning  upon  it  as  though  she 
needed  support.  She  was  barefooted  and  dressed 

85 


THE    INVADER 

only  in  a  long  night-gown,  white,  yet  hardly  whiter 
than  her  face.  Her  eyes  did  not  turn  towards  him, 
they  stared  in  front  of  her,  not  with  the  fixed  gaze 
of  an  ordinary  sleep-walker,  but  with  purpose  and 
intensity.  She  seemed  to  see  something,  to  pursue 
something,  with  starting  eyes  and  out-stretched 
arms;  something  she  hated  even  more  than  she 
feared  it,  for  her  lips  were  blanched  and  tightened 
over  her  teeth  as  though  with  fury,  and  her  smooth 
white  forehead  gathered  in  a  frown.  Again  she 
uttered  that  low,  fierce  sound,  like  that  he  had 
heard  outside  the  door.  Then,  loosing  the  handle 
on  which  she  had  leaned,  she  half  sprung,  half 
staggered,  with  uplifted  hand,  towards  an  open  win 
dow,  beyond  which  the  rush  of  the  thunder  shower 
was  just  visible,  sloping  pallidly  across  the  darkness. 
She  leaned  out  into  it  and  uttered  to  the  night  a 
hoarse,  confused  voice,  words  inchoate,  incom 
prehensible,  yet  with  a  terrible  accent  of  rage,  of 
malediction.  This  transformation  of  his  wife,  so 
refined,  so  self-contained,  into  a  creature  possessed 
by  an  almost  animal  fury,  struck  Ian  with  hor 
ror,  although  he  accepted  it  as  a  phenomenon  of 
somnambulism.  He  approached  but  did  not  touch 
her,  for  he  had  heard  that  it  was  dangerous  to 
awaken  a  somnambulist.  Her  voice  sank  rapidly  to 
a  loud  whisper  and  he  heard  her  articulate — "My 
husband!  Mine!  Mine!" — but  in  no  tone  of  ten 
derness,  rather  pronouncing  the  words  as  a  passion 
ate  claim  to  his  possession.  Then  suddenly  she 
drooped,  half  kneeling  on  the  deep  window-seat, 
half  fallen  across  the  sill.  He  sprang  to  catch  her, 

86 


THE    INVADER 

but  not  before  her  forehead  had  come  down  sharply 
on  the  stone  edge  of  the  outer  window.  He  kneeled 
upon  the  window-seat  and  gathered  her  gently  in 
his  arms,  where  she  lay  quiet,  but  moaning  and 
shuddering. 

"  My  husband!"  she  wailed,  no  longer  furioUvS  now 
but  despairing.  "  Ian !  My  love  1  Ian !  My  life ! 
— my  life!  My  own  husband!" 

Even  in  this  moment  it  thrilled  him  to  hear  such 
words  from  her  lips.  He  had  not  thought  she  loved 
him  so  passionately.  He  lifted  her  on  to  a  deep  old 
sofa  at  the  end  of  the  room,  wrapped  her  in  a  warm 
Oriental  coverlet  which  hung  there,  and  held  her  to 
his  heart,  murmuring  love  and  comfort  in  her  cold 
little  ear.  It  seemed  gradually  to  soothe  her,  al 
though  he  did  not  think  she  really  awoke.  Then 
he  put  her  down,  lighted  the  lamp  outside,  and,  not 
without  difficulty,  carried  her  up  to  bed.  Her 
eyes  were  half  closed  when  he  laid  her  down  and 
drew  the  bedclothes  over  her ;  and  a  minute  or  two 
later,  when  he  looked  in  from  his  dressing-room,  she 
was  evidently  asleep. 

When  he  got  into  bed  she  did  not  stir,  and 
while  he  lay  awake  for  another  hour,  she  re 
mained  motionless  and  breathing  regularly.  He 
assured  himself  that  the  whole  curious  occurrence 
could  be  explained  by  the  electrical  state  of  the 
atmosphere,  which  had  affected  his  own  nerves  in 
a  way  he  would  never  humiliate  himself  by  con 
fessing  to  any  one.  Those  mysterious  footsteps  on 
the  stairs  which  he  had  heard,  footsteps  like  his 
wife's  yet  not  hers ;  that  hand  upon  the  door,  that 

87 


THE    INVADER 

voice  of  sighs,  were  the  creation  of  his  own  excited 
brain.  In  time  he  would  doubtless  come  to  be 
lieve  his  own  assurances  on  the  point,  but  that 
night  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  did  not  believe 
them. 


CHAPTER  X 

NEXT  morning,  if  Ian  himself  slept  late,  Milly 
slept  later  still.  The  strained  and  troubled  look 
which  he  had  seen  upon  her  face  even  in  sleep  the 
night  before,  had  passed  away  in  the  morning,  but 
she  lay  almost  alarmingly  still  and  white.  He  was 
reassured  by  remembering  that  once  when  they 
were  in  Switzerland  she  had  slept  about  sixteen 
hours  and  awakened  in  perfect  health.  He  remained 
in  the  house  watching  over  her,  and  about  four 
o'clock  she  woke  up.  But  she  was  very  pale  and 
very  quiet;  exhausted,  he  thought,  by  her  strange 
mental  and  physical  exertions  of  the  night  before. 

She  came  down  to  tea  with  her  pretty  hair  unbe 
comingly  twisted  up,  and  dressed  in  a  brownish- 
yellow  tea-gown,  which  he  fancied  he  remembered 
hearing  her  denounce  as  only  fit  to  be  turned  into 
a  table-cloth.  He  did  not  precisely  criticise  these 
details,  but  they  helped  in  the  impression  of  life- 
lessness  and  gloom  that  hung  about  her.  It  was  a 
faint,  gleamy  afternoon,  and  such  sun  as  there  was 
did  not  shine  into  the  study.  The  dark  panelling 
looked  darker  than  usual,  and  as  she  sat  silent  and 
listless  in  a  corner  of  the  old  sofa,  her  hair  and  face 
stood  out  against  it  almost  startling  in  their  blond- 
ness  and  whiteness.  She  was  strangely  unlike  her- 

89 


THE    INVADER 

self,  but  Stewart  comforted  himself  by  remembering 
that  she  had  been  odd  in  her  manner  and  behavior, 
though  in  a  different  way,  after  her  long  sleep  in 
Switzerland.  After  he  had  given  her  tea,  he  sug 
gested  that  they  should  walk  in  the  garden,  as  the 
rain  was  over. 

"Not  yet,  Ian,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  try  and 
tell  you  something.  I  can  do  it  better  here." 

Her  mouth  quivered.  He  sat  down  by  her  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Must  you  tell  me  now  ?"  he  asked,  smiling.  "  Do 
you  really  think  it  matters?" 

"Yes  —  it  does  matter,"  she  answered,  tremu 
lously,  pressing  her  folded  hands  against  her  breast. 
"It's  something  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before 
you  married  me — but  indeed,  indeed  I  didn't  know 
how  dreadful  it  was  —  I  didn't  think  it  would 
happen  again." 

He  was  puzzled  a  moment,  then  spoke,  still 
smiling: 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  the  sleep-walking.  Well, 
darling,  it  is  a  bit  creepy,  I  admit,  but  I  shall  get 
used  to  it,  if  you  won't  do  it  too  often." 

"Did  I  really  walk?"  she  asked — and  a  look  of 
horror  was  growing  on  her  face.  "Ah!  I  wasn't 
sure.  No — it's  not  that — it  is — oh,  don't  think  me 
mad,  Ian!" 

"Tell  me,  dearest.     I  promise  I  won't." 

"I've  not  been  here  at  all  since  you've  been 
living  in  this  house.  I've  not  seen  you,  my  own 
precious  husband,  since  I  went  to  sleep  in  Switzer 
land,  at  the  Hotel  du  Chalet — don't  you  remember 

90 


THE    INVADER 

— when  we  had  been  that  long  walk  up  to  the  glacier 
and  I  was  so  tired?" 

Stewart  was  exceedingly  startled.  He  paused, 
and  then  said,  very  gently  but  very  firmly: 

"  That's  nonsense,  dearest.  You  have  been  here, 
you've  been  with  me  all  the  time." 

"  Ahl  You  think  so,  but  it  was  not  I — no,  don't 
interrupt  me — I  mean  to  tell  you,  I  must,  but  I  can't 
if  you  interrupt  me.  It  was  awfully  wrong  of  me 
not  to  tell  you  before ;  but  I  tried  to,  and  then  I  saw 
you  wouldn't  believe  me.  Do  you  remember  a 
dinner-party  at  the  Fletchers',  the  autumn  before 
we  were  engaged  —  when  Cousin  David  had  just 
bought  that  picture?" 

"That  portrait  of  Lady  Hammerton,  which  is  so 
like  you?  Yes,  I  remember  it  perfectly." 

"You  know  I  wanted  my  First  so  much  and  I 
had  been  working  too  hard,  and  then  I  was  told 
that  evening  that  you  had  said  I  couldn't  get  it — " 

"Silly  me!" 

"  And  I  felt  certain  you  didn't  love  me — " 

"Silly  you!" 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  please.  And  I  wasn't  well, 
and  I  cried  and  cried  and  I  couldn't  leave  off,  and 
then  I  allowed  Tims  to  hypnotize  me.  We  both 
knew  she  had  no  business  to  do  it,  it  was  wrong  of 
us,  of  course,  but  we  couldn't  possibly  guess  what 
would  happen.  I  went  to  sleep,  and  so  far  as  I  knew 
I  never  woke  again  for  more  than  six  months,  not 
till  the  Schools  were  over." 

"  But,  my  darling,  I  skated  with  you  constantly 
in  the  Christmas  Vacation,  and  took  your  work 

91 


THE    INVADER 

through  the  Term.  I  assure  you  that  you  were 
quite  awake  then." 

"  I  remember  nothing  about  it.  All  I  know  is  that 
some  one  got  my  First  for  me." 

"But,  Mildred—" 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  Mildred  ?  That's  what  they 
called  me  when  I  woke  up  last  time;  but  my  own 
name's  Milly." 

Stewart  rose  and  paced  the  room,  then  came 
back. 

"  It's  simply  a  case  of  collapse  of  memory,  dear. 
It's  very  trying,  but  don't  let's  be  fanciful  about 
it." 

"  I  thought  it  was  only  that — I  told  you,  didn't  I, 
something  of  that  sort?  But  I  didn't  know  then, 
nobody  told  me,  that  I  wasn't  like  myself  at  all 
those  months  I  couldn't  remember.  Last  night  in 
my  sleep  I  knew — I  knew  that  some  one  else,  some 
thing  else — I  can't  describe  it,  it's  impossible — was 
struggling  hard  with  me  in  my  own  brain,  my  own 
body,  trying  to  hold  me  down,  to  push  me  back 
again  into  the  place,  whatever  it  was,  I  came  out  of. 
But  I  got  stronger  and  stronger  till  I  was  quite  my 
self  and  the  thing  couldn't  really  stop  me.  I  dare 
say  it  only  lasted  a  few  seconds,  then  I  felt  quite 
free — free  from  the  struggle,  the  pressure ;  and  I  saw 
myself  standing  in  the  room,  with  some  kind  of  white 
floating  stuff  over  my  head  and  about  me,  and  I 
saw  myself  open  the  door  and  go  out  of  the  room. 
I  wasn't  a  bit  surprised,  but  I  just  lay  there  quiet 
and  peaceful.  Then  suddenly  it  came  to  me  that  I 
couldn't  have  seen  myself,  that  the  person,  the 

92 


THE   INVADER 

figure  I  had  seen  go  out  of  the  door  was  the  other 
one,  the  creature  I  had  been  struggling  with,  who 
had  stolen  my  shape;  and  it  came  to  me  that  she 
was  gone  to  steal  you — to  steal  your  heart  from  me 
and  take  you  away;  and  you  wouldn't  know,  you 
would  think  it  was  I,  and  you  would  follow  her  and 
love  her  and  never  know  it  was  not  your  own  wife 
you  were  loving.  And  I  was  mad  with  anger;  I 
never  knew  before  what  it  meant,  Ian,  to  be  as  an 
gry  as  that.  I  struggled  hard  to  get  up,  and  at  last 
I  managed  it,  and  I  came  down-stairs  after  her,  but 
I  couldn't  find  her,  and  I  was  sure  that  she  had  gone 
and  had  taken  you  away  with  her.  And  you  say 
I  really  did  come  down-stairs." 

"Yes,  darling,  and  if  you  had  been  awake  in 
stead  of  asleep,  as  you  obviously  were,  you  would 
have  seen  that  this  nightmare  of  yours  was  nothing 
but  a  nightmare.  You  would  have  seen  that  I 
was  alone  here,  quietly  arranging  my  papers  before 
going  to  bed.  You  gave  me  a  fright  coming  down 
as  you  did,  for  there  was  a  tremendous  thunder 
storm  going  on,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  queer 
my  own  nerves  were.  The  electrical  state  of  the 
atmosphere  and  a  very  loud  clap  of  thunder  just 
overhead,  account  for  the  whole  business,  which 
probably  lasted  only  a  few  seconds  from  beginning 
to  end.  Be  reasonable,  little  woman,  you  are 
generally  the  most  reasonable  person  I  know — ex 
cept  when  you  talk  about  going  to  Dieppe." 

Milly  gave  him  a  strange  look. 

"Why  am  I  not  reasonable  when  I  talk  about 
going  to  Dieppe  ?" 

93 


THE    INVADER 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  hair. 

"Never  mind  why.  We  aren't  going  to  excite 
ourselves  to-day  or  do  anything  but  make  love  and 
forget  nightmares  and  everything  disagreeable." 

She  drew  herself  away  a  little  and  looked  with 
frightened  eyes  in  his. 

"  But  I  can't  forget,  Ian,  that  I  don't  remember 
anything  that  has  happened  since  we  were  on  our 
honeymoon  in  Switzerland.  And  now  we  are  in 
Oxford,  and  I  can  see  it's  quite  late  in  the  summer. 
How  can  I  forget  that  somehow  I  am  being  robbed 
of  myself — robbed  of  my  life  with  you?" 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow  and  you'll  remember  every 
thing  right  enough." 

But  Milly  was  not  to  be  convinced.  She  was 
willing  to  submit  on  the  question  of  last  night's 
experiences,  but  she  assured  him  that  Tims  would 
bear  her  out  in  the  assertion  that  she  had  never 
recovered  her  recollection  of  the  months  preceding 
her  engagement.  Ian  ceased  trying  to  convince 
her  that  she  was  mistaken  on  this  point;  but  he 
argued  that  the  memory  was  of  all  functions  of  the 
brain  the  most  uncertain,  that  there  was  no  limit 
to  its  vagaries,  which  were  mere  matters  of  nerves 
and  circulation,  and  that  Dr.  Norton-Smith,  the 
nerve  and  brain  specialist  to  whom  he  would  take 
her,  would  probably  turn  out  to  have  a  dozen 
patients  subject  to  the  same  affliction  as  herself. 
One  never  hears  of  half  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to 
until  the  inheritance  falls  to  one's  own  lot. 

Milly  was  a  common-sense  young  woman,  and 
his  explanation,  especially  as  it  was  his,  pacified 

94 


THE    INVADER 

her  for  the  time.  The  clouds  had  been  rolling 
away  while  they  talked,  the  space  of  deep  blue  sky 
overhead  growing  larger,  the  sunshine  fuller.  There 
was  a  busy  twittering  and  shaking  of  little  wings  in 
the  tall  pear-tree  near  the  house,  where  the  tomtits 
in  their  varied  liveries  loved  to  congregate.  July 
was  not  far  advanced  and  the  sun  had  still  some 
hours  in  which  to  shine.  Ian  and  Milly  went  out 
and  walked  in  the  Parks.  The  tennis-club  lawns 
were  almost  deserted,  but  they  met  a  few  acquaint 
ances  taking  their  constitutional,  like  themselves, 
and  an  exchange  of  ordinary  remarks  with  people 
who  took  her  normality  for  granted,  helped  Milly 
to  believe  in  it  herself.  So  long  as  the  blank  in  her 
memory  continued,  she  could  not  be  free  from  care ; 
but  she  went  to  sleep  that  night  in  lan's  arms,  feel 
ing  herself  protected  by  them  not  only  from  bodily 
harm,  but  from  all  those  dreadful  fears  and  evil 
fantasies  that  "  do  assault  and  hurt  the  soul." 


CHAPTER  XI 

IAN  had  been  so  busy  persuading  Milly  to  view 
her  own  case  as  a  simple  one,  and  so  busy 
comforting  her  with  an  almost  feminine  intuition 
of  what  would  really  afford  her  comfort,  that  it  was 
only  in  the  watches  of  the  night  that  certain  dis 
quieting  recollections  forced  their  way  into  his 
mind.  It  was  of  course  now  part  of  his  creed  that 
he  had  loved  Milly  Flaxman  from  the  first — only 
he  had  never  known  her  well  till  that  Christmas 
Vacation  when  they  had  skated  so  much  together. 
Later  on,  such  disturbing  events  as  engagement  and 
marriage  had  seemed  to  him  enough  to  explain  any 
changes  he  had  observed  in  her.  Later  still,  he  had 
been  too  much  in  love  to  think  about  her  at  all,  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  word.  She  had  been  to  him 
"all  a  wonder  and  a  wild  desire." 

Now,  taking  the  dates  of  her  collapses  of  mem 
ory,  he  made,  despite  himself,  certain  notes  on 
those  changes.  It  is  to  be  feared  he  did  not  often 
want  to  see  Miss  Timson;  but  on  the  day  after 
Milly 's  return  to  the  world,  he  cycled  out  to  visit 
her  friend.  Tims  was  spending  the  summer  on  the 
wild  and  beautiful  ridge  which  has  since  become 
a  suburb  of  Oxford.  It  was  doubtful  whether  he 
would  find  her  in,  as  she  was  herself  a  mighty 

96 


THE    INVADER 

cyclist,  making  most  of  her  journeys  on  the  wheel, 
happy  in  the  belief  that  she  was  saving  money  at 
the  expense  of  the  railway  companies. 

The  time  of  flowers,  the  freshness  of  trees,  and  the 
glory  of  gorse  and  broom  was  over.  It  was  the 
season  of  full  summer  when  the  midlands,  clothed 
with  their  rich  but  sheenless  mantle  of  green,  wear 
a  self-satisfied  air,  as  of  dull  people  conscious  of 
deserved  prosperity.  But  just  as  the  sea  or  a 
mountain  or  an  adventurous  soul  will  always  lend 
an  element  of  the  surprising  and  romantic  to  the 
commonest  corner  of  earth,  so  the  sky  will  per 
petually  transfigure  large  spaces  of  level  country, 
valley  or  plain,  laid  open  to  its  capricious  influences. 
Boars  Hill  looks  over  the  wide  valley  of  the  narrow 
Og  to  the  downs,  and  up  to  where  that  merges  into 
the  valley  of  the  Upper  Thames.  By  the  sandy 
track  which  Ian  followed,  the  tree  still  stood, 
though  no  longer  alone,  whence  the  poet  of  Thyr- 
sis  looking  northward,  saw  the  "fair  city  with  her 
dreaming  spires  " ;  less  fair  indeed  to-day  than  when 
he  looked  upon  it,  but  still  "lovely  all  times,"  in 
all  its  fleeting  shades,  whether  blond  and  sharp-cut 
in  the  sunshine  or  dimly  gray  among  its  veiling 
trees.  The  blue  waving  line  of  the  downs,  crowned 
here  and  there  by  clumps  of  trees,  ran  far  along  the 
southwestern  horizon,,  melting  vaporously  in  the 
distance  above  "  the  Vale,  the  three  lone  weirs,  the 
youthful  Thames."  Over  the  downs  and  over 
the  wide  valley  of  ripening  cornfields,  of  indigo 
hedgerow-elms  and  greener  willow  and  woodland, 
of  red-roofed  homesteads  and  towered  churches, 
7  97 


THE    INVADER 

moved  slowly  the  broad  shadows  of  rolling  clouds 
that  journeyed  through  the  intense  blue  above. 
Some  shadows  were  like  veils  of  pale  gray  gauze, 
through  which  the  world  showed  a  delicately  soft 
ened  face ;  others  were  dark,  with  a  rich,  indefinable 
hue  of  their  own,  and  as  they  moved,  the  earth 
seemed  to  burst  into  a  deeper  glow  of  color  behind 
them.  Close  by,  the  broken  hill-side  was  set  here 
and  there  with  oak  and  thorn,  was  everywhere 
deep  in  bracken,  on  whose  large  fronds  lay  the 
bluish  bloom  of  their  maturity.  It  all  gained  a 
definiteness  of  form,  an  air  of  meaning  by  its  de 
tachment  from  the  wide  background  floating  be 
hind. 

Following  steep  and  circuitous  lanes,  Ian  ar 
rived  at  the  lodging-house  and  found  Tims  on  the 
porch  preparing  to  start  on  her  bicycle.  But 
flattered  and  surprised  by  his  visit,  she  ordered  tea 
in  the  bright  little  sitting-room  she  was  inhabiting. 
He  was  shy  of  approaching  the  real  object  of  his 
visit.  They  marked  time  awhile  till  the  thunder 
storm  became  their  theme.  Then  he  told  some 
thing  of  Milly's  sleep  -  walking,  her  collapse  of 
memory;  and  watched  Tims  meantime,  hoping  to 
see  in  her  face  merely  surprise  and  concern.  But 
there  was  no  surprise,  hardly  concern  in  the  queer 
little  face.  There  was  excitement,  and  at  last  a 
flash  of  positive  pleasure. 

"Good  old  M. !"  she  observed.  "I'm  glad  she 
has  got  back;  though  I'm  a  bit  proud  of  the  other 
one  too.  I  expect  you  feel  much  the  same,  old 
boy,  don't  you?" 

98 


THE    INVADER 

The  speech  was  the  reverse  of  soothing,  even  to 
its  detail  of  "old  boy."  He  looked  at  his  teacup 
and  drew  his  black  brows  together. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand,  Miss  Timson.  I 
suppose  you  think  it  a  joke,  but  to  me  it  seems 
rather  a  serious  matter." 

"Of  course  it  is;  uncommon  serious,"  returned 
Tims,  too  much  interested  in  her  subject  to  con 
sider  the  husband's  feelings.  "Bless  you!  /  don't 
want  to  be  responsible  for  it.  At  first  I  thought  it 
was  a  simple  case  of  a  personality  evolved  by  hyp 
notism;  but  if  so  it  would  have  depended  on  the 
hypnotist,  and  you  see  it  didn't  after  the  first." 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  bother  about  hypnotism  " 
— there  was  a  note  of  impatience  in  lan's  voice — 
"  it's  just  a  case  of  collapse  of  memory.  But  as  you 
were  with  her  the  first  time  it  happened,  I  want 
to  know  exactly  how  far  the  collapse  went.  There 
were  signs  of  it  every  now  and  then  in  her  work, 
but  on  the  whole  it  improved." 

"You  never  can  tell  what  will  happen  in  these 
cases,"  said  Tims.  "She  remembered  her  book- 
learning  pretty  well,  but  she  forgot  her  own  name, 
and  as  to  people  and  things  that  had  happened,  she 
was  like  a  new-born  babe.  If  I  hadn't  nursed  her 
through  she'd  have  been  sent  to  a  lunatic  asylum. 
But  it  wasn't  that,  after  all,  that  made  it  so  exciting. 
It  was  the  difference  between  Milly's  two  person 
alities.  You  don't  mean  to  say,  old  chap,  you've 
lived  with  her  for  seven  months  and  can't  see  the 
difference  ?" 

Tims  looked  at  him.  She  held  strong  theoretical 
99 


THE    INVADER 

views  as  to  the  stupidity  of  the  male,  but  circum 
stances  had  seldom  before  allowed  her  to  put  them 
to  the  test.  Behold  them  more  than  justified;  for 
Ian  was  far  above  the  average  in  intelligence.  He, 
for  a  fraction  of  a  minute,  paused,  deliberately 
closing  the  shutter  of  his  mind  against  an  un 
pleasant  search-light  that  shot  back  on  the  ex 
periences  of  his  courtship  and  marriage. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'm  not  imaginative,"  he  re 
turned,  with  a  dry  laugh.  "  I  only  see  certain  facts 
about  her  memory  and  want  more  of  them,  to  tell 
Norton-Smith  when  I  take  her  up  to  see  him." 

"Norton-Smith!"  exclaimed  Tims.  "What  is 
the  good?  Englishmen  are  all  right  when  it's  a 
question  of  filling  up  the  map  of  Africa,  but  they're 
no  good  on  the  dark  continent  of  ourselves.  They're 
cowards.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  them. 
Don't  go  to  Norton-Smith." 

Stewart  made  an  effectual  effort  to  overcome  his 
irritation.  He  ought  to  have  known  better  than 
to  turn  to  an  oddity  like  Tims  for  advice  and 
sympathy. 

"  Whom  ought  I  to  go  to,  then  ?"  he  asked,  good- 
humoredly,  and  looking  particularly  long  as  he 
rose  from  the  depths  of  the  low  wicker  chair.  "A 
medicine-man  with  horns  and  a  rattle?" 

"Well,"  returned  Tims  with  deliberation,  pulling 
on  a  pair  of  thread  gloves,  "  I  dare  say  he  could  teach 
Norton-Smith  a  thing  or  two.  Mind  'you,  I'm  not 
talking  spiritualistic  rot;  I'm  talking  scientific  facts, 
which  every  one  knows  except  the  English  scientific 
men,  who  keep  on  clapping  their  glass  to  the  blind 

100 


THE    INVADER 

eye  like  a  lot  of  clock-work  Nelsons.  The  effects 
of  hypnotism  are  as  much  facts  as  the  effects  of  a 
bottle  of  whiskey.  But  Milly's  case  is  different. 
In  my  opinion  she's  developed  an  independent 
double  personality.  It's  an  inconvenient  state  of 
things,  but  I  don't  suppose  it'll  last  forever.  One 
or  the  other  will  get  stronger  and  'hold  the  fort.' 
But  it's  rather  a  bad  business  anyhow."  Tims 
paused  and  sighed,  drawing  on  the  other  glove. 
"I'm — I'm  fond  of  them  both  myself,  and  I  expect 
you'll  feel  the  same,  when  you  see  the  difference." 

Ian  laughed  awkwardly,  his  brown  eyes  fixed 
scrutinizingly  upon  her. 

"So  long  as  the  fort  holds  somebody,  I  sha'n't 
worry,"  he  said,  lightly. 

They  went  out,  and  as  he  led  his  own  bicycle 
towards  the  upper  track,  Tims  spun  down  the  steep 
drive,  and,  turning  into  the  lane,  kissed  her  hand 
to  him  in  farewell  from  under  the  brim  of  her 
perennially  crooked  hat. 

"That  Timson  girl's  more  than  queer,"  he  mused 
to  himself,  going  on.  "There's  a  streak  of  real  in 
sanity  in  her.  I'm  afraid  it's  not  been  good  for  a 
highly  strung  creature  like  Mildred  to  see  so  much 
of  her ;  and  why  on  earth  did  she  ?" 

He  tried  to  clear  his  mind  of  Tims's  fantastic 
suggestions ;  of  everything,  indeed,  except  the  fresh 
ness  of  the  air  rushing  past  him,  the  beauty  of 
the  wide  view,  steeped  in  the  romance  of  dis 
tance.  But  memory,  that  strange,  recalcitrant, 
mechanical  slave  of  ours,  kept  diving,  without  con 
nivance  of  his,  into  the  recesses  of  the  past  twenty 

IOI 


THE    INVADER 

months  of  his  life,  and  presenting  to  him  unsolicited, 
circumstances,  experiences,  which  he  had  thrust 
away  unclassified  —  his  own  surprise,  almost  per 
plexity,  when  Mildred  had  brought  him  work  for 
the  first  time  after  her  illness  that  autumn  Term 
before  last;  his  disappointment  and  even  boredom 
in  his  engagement  and  the  first  three  weeks  of  his 
marriage;  then  the  change  in  his  own  feelings 
after  her  long  sleep  at  the  Hotel  du  Chalet ;  besides 
a  score  of  disquieting  trifles  which  meant  nothing 
till  they  were  strung  on  a  thread.  He  felt  himself 
beginning  to  be  infected  with  Flora  Timson's  mania 
against  his  will,  against  his  sober  judgment;  and 
he  spun  down  Bagley  Hill  at  a  runaway  speed,  only 
saved  by  a  miracle  from  collision  with  a  cart  which 
emerged  from  Hincksey  Lane  at  the  jolting  pace 
with  which  the  rustic  pursues  his  undeviating 
course. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MILLY,  too,  had  not  been  without  a  sharp  re 
minder  that  the  leaves  in  her  life  so  blank  to 
her,  had  been  fully  inscribed  by  another.  She 
hardly  yet  felt  mistress  of  the  house,  but  it  was 
pleasant  to  rest  and  read  in  the  low,  white-panelled 
drawing-room,  which  lowered  awnings  kept  cool, 
although  the  afternoon  sun  struck  a  golden  shaft 
across  the  flowering  window -boxes  of  its  large 
and  deeply  recessed  bow  -  window.  The  whole 
room  was  lighter  and  more  feminine  than  Milly 
would  have  made  it,  but  at  bottom  the  taste  that 
reigned  there  was  more  severe  than  her  own.  The 
only  pictures  on  the  panels  were  a  few  eighteenth 
century  colored  prints,  already  charming,  soon  to  be 
valuable,  and  one  or  two  framed  pieces  of  needle 
work  which  harmonized  with  them. 

Presently  the  door-bell  rang  and  a  Mr.  Fitzroy 
was  announced  by  the  parlor-maid,  in  a  tone  which 
implied  that  she  was  accustomed  to  his  name.  He 
looked  about  the  age  of  an  undergraduate  and  was 
extraordinarily  well-groomed,  in  spite  of,  or  perhaps 
because  of,  being  in  a  riding-dress.  His  sleek  dark 
hair  was  neatly  parted  in  the  middle  and  he  was 
clean  shaven,  when  to  be  so  smacked  of  the  stage; 


THE    INVADER 

but  his  manners  and  expression  smacked  of  nothing 
of  the  kind. 

"I'm  awfully  glad  to  find  you  at  home,  Mrs. 
Stewart,"  he  said.  "I've  been  lunching  at  the 
Morrisons',  and,  you  know,  I'm  afraid  there's  going 
to  be  a  row." 

The  Morrisons  ?  They  lived  outside  Oxford,  and 
Milly  knew  them  by  sight,  that  was  all. 

"What  about?"  she  asked,  kindly,  thinking  the 
young  man  had  come  for  help,  or  at  least  sympathy, 
in  some  embarrassment  of  his  own. 

"Why,  about  your  acting  Galatea.  Jim  Mor 
rison's  been  a  regular  fool  about  it.  He'd  no  busi 
ness  to  take  it  for  granted  that  that  was  the  part  I 
wanted  Mrs.  Shaw  for.  Now  it  appears  she's  telling 
every  one  that  she's  been  asked  to  play  the  lead  at 
the  Besselsfield  theatricals;  and,  by  Jove,  he  says 
she  is  to,  too!" 

Milly  went  rather  pale  and  then  quite  pink. 

"Then  of  course  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  the 
part,"  she  said,  gasping  with  relief  at  this  provi 
dential  escape. 

Mr.  Fitzroy  in  his  turn  flushed.  He  had  an  ob 
stinate  chin  and  the  cares  of  stage-managment  had 
already  traced  a  line  right  across  his  smooth  fore 
head.  It  deepened  to  a  furrow  as  he  leaned  forward 
out  of  his  low  wicker  chair,  clutching  the  pair  of 
dogskin  gloves  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  come,  I  say  now,  Mrs.  Stewart!"  and  his 
voice  and  eye  were  surprisingly  stern  for  one  so 
young.  "That's  not  playing  fair.  You  promised 
me  you'd  see  me  through  this  show,  and  you  know 

104 


THE    INVADER 

as  well  as  I  do,  Mrs.  Shaw  can  no  more  act  than 
those  fire-irons." 

"But  I — "  Milly  was  about  to  say  "I've  never 
acted  in  my  life" — when  she  remembered  that  she 
knew  less  than  any  one  in  her  acquaintance  what 
she  had  or  had  not  done  in  that  recent  life  which 
was  not  hers.  "I  shouldn't  act  Galatea  at  all 
well,"  she  substituted  lamely;  "and  I  shouldn't 
look  the  part  nearly  as  well  as  Mrs.  Shaw  will." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Stewart,  but  I'm  certain  you're 
simply  cut  out  for  it  all  round,  and  you  told  me  the 
other  day  you  were  particularly  anxious  to  play  it. 
You  promised  you'd  stick  to  me  through  thick  and 
thin  and  not  care  a  twopenny — I  mean  a  straw — 
what  Jim  Morrison  and  Mrs.  Shaw — " 

In  the  stress  of  conversation  they  had  neither 
of  them  noticed  the  tinkle  of  the  front-door  bell. 
Now  the  door  of  the  room,  narrow  and  in  the  thick 
ness  of  an  enormous  wall,  was  thrown  open  and 
Mrs.  Shaw  was  announced. 

Fitzroy,  forgetful  of  manners  in  his  excitement, 
stooped  forward  and  gripping  Milly's  arm  almost 
hissed : 

"Remember!     You've  promised  me." 

The  words  filled  Milly  with  misery.  That  any 
one  should  be  able  to  accuse  her  of  breaking  a 
promise,  however  unreal  her  responsibility  for  it, 
was  horrible  to  her. 

Mrs.  Shaw  entered,  no  longer  the  seraph  of 
twenty  months  ago.  She  had  latterly  put  off  the 
aesthetic  raiment  she  had  worn  with  such  peculiar 
grace,  and  her  dress  and  coiffure  were  quite  in  the 

105 


THE    INVADER 

fashion  of  the  hour.  The  transformation  somewhat 
shocked  Milly,  who  could  never  help  feeling  a  slight 
austere  prejudice  against  fashionably  dressed  wom 
an.  Then,  considering  how  little  she  knew  Mrs. 
Shaw,  it  was  embarrassing  to  be  kissed  by  her. 

"It's  odd  I  should  find  you  here,  Mr.  Fitzroy," 
said  Mrs.  Shaw,  settling  her  rustling  skirts  on  a 
chintzy  chair.  "I've  just  come  to  talk  to  Mrs. 
Stewart  about  the  acting.  I'm  so  sorry  there's 
been  a  misunderstanding  about  it." 

Her  tone  was  civil  but  determined,  and  there 
was  a  fighting  look  in  her  eye. 

"So  am  I,  Mrs.  Shaw,  most  uncommonly  sorry," 
returned  Fitzroy,  patting  his  sleek  hair  and  feeling 
that  his  will  was  adamant,  however  pretty  Mrs. 
Shaw  might  be. 

"Of  course,  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  taking 
the  part  away  from  Mrs.  Stewart,"  she  resumed, 
glancing  at  Milly,  not  without  meaning,  "  but  Mr. 
Morrison  asked  me  to  take  it  quite  a  fortnight 
ago.  I've  learned  most  of  it  and  rehearsed  two 
scenes  already  with  him.  He  says  they  go  capitally, 
and  we  both  think  it  seems  rather  a  pity  to  waste  all 
that  labor  and  change  the  part  now." 

Fitzroy  cast  a  look  at  Mrs.  Stewart  which  was 
meant  to  call  up  reinforcements  from  that  quarter ; 
but  as  she  sat  there  quite  silent,  he  cleared  his 
throat  and  begun: 

"It's  an  awful  bore,  of  course,  but  I  fancy  it's 
about  three  weeks  or  a  month  since  I  first  asked  Mrs. 
Stewart  to  play  the  lead — isn't  it,  Mrs.  Stewart?" 

Milly  muttered  assent,  horribly  suspecting  a  lie. 
1 06 


THE    INVADER 

A  flash  of  indignant  scorn  from  Mrs.  Shaw  confirmed 
the  suspicion. 

"Mrs.  Stewart  said  something  quite  different 
when  I  spoke  to  her  about  it  at  tennis  on  Friday. 
Didn't  you,  Mildred?"  she  asked. 

Milly  crimsoned. 

"Did  I?"  she  stammered.  "I'm  afraid  I've  got 
a  dreadfully  bad  memory — for — for  dates  of  that 
kind." 

Mrs.  Shaw  smiled  coldly.  Mr.  Fitzroy  felt  him 
self  deceived  in  Mrs.  Stewart  as  an  ally.  He  had 
counted  on  her  promised  support,  on  her  wit  and 
spirit  to  carry  him  through,  and  her  conduct  was 
simply  cowardly. 

"The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Shaw,"  he  said,  "Jim  Mor 
rison's  not  bossing  this  show  at  all.  That's  where 
the  mistake  has  come  in.  My  aunt,  Lady  Wolver- 
cote,  is  a  bit  of  an  autocrat,  don't  you  know,  and 
she  doesn't  like  us  fellows  to  arrange  things  on  our 
own  account.  If  she  knew  you  I'm  sure  she'd  see 
what  a  splendid  Galatea  you'd  make,  but  as  it  is 
she's  set  her  heart  on  getting  Mrs.  Stewart  from 
the  very  first." 

Had  he  stopped  here  his  position  would  have  been 
good,  but  an  indignant  instinct,  urging  him  to  push 
the  reluctant  Mrs.  Stewart  into  the  proper  place  of 
woman  —  that  natural  shield  of  man  against  all 
the  social  disagreeables  he  brings  on  himself — made 
Fitzroy  rush  into  the  fatal  detail. 

"My  aunt  told  you  so  at  the  Masonic;  didn't 
she,  Mrs.  Stewart?" 

Milly,  under  the  young  man's  imperious  eye, 
107 


THE    INVADER 

assented  feebly,  but  Mrs.  Shaw  laughed.  She  per 
fectly  remembered  Mildred  having  mentioned  on 
that  very  occasion  that  she  did  not  know  Lady 
Wolvercote  by  sight. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  come  just  a  few  minutes  too 
soon,"  she  said,  dryly.  "You  and  Mr.  Fitzroy 
don't  seem  to  have  talked  things  over  quite 
enough." 

The  saying  was  dark  and  yet  too  clear.  Milly, 
the  meticulously  truthful,  saw  herself  convicted 
of  some  horrible  falsehood.  She  blushed  violently, 
gasped,  and  rolled  her  handkerchief  into  a  tight 
ball.  Mr.  Fitzroy  ignoring  the  insinuation,  changed 
his  line. 

"The  part  we  really  wanted  you  to  take,  Mrs. 
Shaw,  was  that  of  a  nymph  in  an  Elizabethan 
masque  which  Lumley  has  written,  with  music  by 
Stephen  Bampton.  It's  to  be  played  in  the  rose 
garden  and  there's  a  chorus  of  nymphs  who  sing 
and  dance.  We  want  them  to  look  perfectly  lovely, 
don't  you  know,  and  as  there  can't  be  any  make-up 
to  speak  of,  it's  awfully  difficult  to  find  the  right 
people." 

Mrs.  Shaw  disdained  the  lure  and  mentally  con 
demned  his  anxiously  civil  manner  as  "soapy." 

"  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Morrison  to  go  to  Lady  Wol 
vercote  at  once,"  she  said,  "and  see  whether  she 
really  wishes  me  to  give  up  the  part.  Time's  get 
ting  on,  and  he  says  he  won't  be  able  to  have  many 
more  rehearsals." 

There  was  a  sound  as  of  a  carriage  stopping  in 
the  street  below,  the  jingling  of  bits,  and  a  high 

1 08 


THE    INVADER 

female  voice  giving  an  order.  Fitzroy,  inwardly 
exasperated  by  Mrs.  Shaw's  resistance  and  the 
abject  conduct  of  his  ally,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  I  believe  that's  my  aunt!"  he  exclaimed.  "  She 
wants  me  to  call  at  Blenheim  on  the  way  home, 
and  I  suppose  the  Morrisons  told  her  where  I 
was." 

He  managed  to  slip  his  head  out  between  the  edge 
of  an  awning  and  the  mignonette  and  geraniums  of 
a  window-box. 

"It's  my  aunt,  right  enough.  May  I  fetch  her 
up,  Mrs.  Stewart?"  He  was  down  the  stairs  in  a 
moment  and  voluble  in  low-voiced  colloquy  with 
the  lady  in  the  barouche. 

Lady  Wolvercote  was  organizing  the  great  fancy 
fair  for  the  benefit  of  the  County  Cottage  Hospitals, 
and  had  left  the  dramatic  part  of  the  programme 
to  her  nephew  to  arrange.  She  was  a  tall,  slight 
woman,  of  the  usual  age  for  aunts,  and  pleasant  to 
every  one ;  but  she  took  it  for  granted  that  every 
one  would  do  as  she  wished — naturally,  since  they 
always  did  in  her  neighborhood.  As  she  stumbled 
up  the  stairs  after  Charlie  Fitzroy — it  was  a  dark 
staircase  and  narrow  in  proportion  to  its  massive 
oak  balusters — she  felt  faintly  annoyed  with  him  for 
dragging  her  into  the  quarrels  of  his  middle-class 
friends,  but  confident  that  she  could  manage  them 
without  the  least  trouble. 

Milly  was  relieved  at  the  return  of  Mr.  Fitzroy 
with  his  aunt.  She  had  had  an  unhappy  five 
minutes  with  Mrs.  Shaw,  who  had  been  saying 
cryptic  but  unpleasant  things  and  calling  her 

109 


THE   INVADER 

"Mildred";  whereas  she  did  not  so  much  as  know 
Mrs.  Shaw's  Christian  name. 

Seeing  Mrs.  Shaw,  beautiful,  animated,  well- 
dressed,  and  Milly  neatly  clothed,  since  her  clothes 
were  not  of  her  own  choosing,  but  with  her  hair  un 
becomingly  knotted,  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  com 
plexion,  and  expression  in  eclipse,  Lady  Wolvercote 
wondered  at  her  nephew's  choice.  But  that  was  his 
affair.  She  began  to  talk  in  a  rather  high-pitched 
voice  and  continuously,  like  one  whose  business 
it  is  to  talk;  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  interrupt 
without  rudeness. 

"  So  you're  going  to  be  kind  enough  to  act  Galatea 
for  us  at  our  fancy  fair,  Mrs.  Stewart?  We  want 
it  to  be  a  great  success,  and  Lord  Wolvercote  and 
I  have  heard  so  much  about  your  acting.  My 
nephew  said  the  part  of  Galatea  would  suit  you 
exactly;  didn't  you,  Charlie?" 

"Down  to  the  ground,"  interpolated,  or  rather 
accompanied,  Fitzroy.  "  We  shall  have  the  placards 
out  on  Wednesday,  and  people  are  looking  forward 
already  to  seeing  Mrs.  Stewart.  There'll  be  a 
splendid  audience." 

"Every  one  has  promised  to  fill  their  houses  for 
the  fair,"  Lady  Wolvercote  was  continuing,  "and 

the  Duke  thinks  he  may  be  able  to  get  down ," 

she  mentioned  a  royalty.  "You're  going  to  help 
us  too,  aren't  you,  Mrs.  Shaw?  It's  so  very  kind  of 
you.  We've  got  such  a  pretty  part  for  you  in  a 
musical  affair  which  Lenny  Lumley  wrote  with 
somebody  or  other  for  the  Duchess  of  Ulster's 
Elizabethan  bazaar.  There's  a  chorus  of  fairies — 

no 


THE    INVADER 

nymphs,  Charlie?  Yes,  nymphs,  and  we  want 
them  all  to  be  very  pretty  and  able  to  sing,  and 
there's  a  charming  dance  for  them.  I'm  afraid 
that  silly  boy,  Jim  Morrison,  made  some  mistake 
about  it,  and  told  you  we  wanted  you  to  act  Galatea. 
But  of  course  we  couldn't  possibly  do  without  you 
in  the  other  thing,  and  Mrs.  Stewart  seems  quite 
pointed  out  for  that  Galatea  part.  Jim's  such  a 
dear,  isn't  he  ?  And  such  a  splendid  actor,  every 
one  says  he  really  ought  to  go  on  the  stage.  But 
we  none  of  us  pay  the  least  attention  to  anything 
the  dear  boy  says,  for  he  always  does  manage  to 
get  things  wrong." 

Mrs.  Shaw  had  been  making  little  movements 
preparatory  to  going.  She  had  no  gift  for  the  stage 
except  beauty,  but  that  produces  an  illusion  of 
success,  and  she  took  her  acting  with  the  serious 
ness  of  a  Duse. 

"I'm  sorry  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Morrison's  habits 
better,"  she  replied.  "  I've  been  studying  the  part 
of  Galatea  a  good  deal  and  rehearsing  it  with  him 
as  well.  Of  course,  I  don't  for  a  moment  wish  to 
prevent  Mrs.  Stewart  from  taking  it,  but  I've  spent 
a  good  deal  of  time  upon  it  and  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
undertake  anything  else.  Of  course,  it's  very  in 
convenient  stopping  in  Oxford  in  August,  and  I 
shouldn't  care  to  do  it  except  for  the  sake  of  a  part 
which  I  felt  gave  me  a  real  opportunity — " 

"  But  it's  a  very  pretty  part  we've  got  for  you," 
resumed  Lady  Wolvercote,  perplexed.  "And  we 
were  hoping  to  see  you  over  at  Besselsfield  a  good 
deal  for  rehearsals — " 

in 


THE    INVADER 

It  seemed  to  her  a  "part  of  nature's  holy  plan" 
that  the  prospect  of  Besselsfield  should  prove  ir 
resistibly  attractive  to  the  wives  of  professional 
men. 

"Thanks,  so  much,  but  I'm  sure  you  and  Mr. 
Fitzroy  must  know  plenty  of  girls  who  would  do 
for  that  sort  of  part,"  returned  Mrs.  Shaw. 

Milly  here  broke  in  eagerly: 

"Please,  Lady  Wolvercote,  do  persuade  Mrs. 
Shaw  to  take  Galatea;  I'm  sure  I  sha'n't  be  able  to 
do  it  a  bit;  and  I  would  try  and  take  the  nymph. 
I  should  love  the  music,  and  I  know  I  could  do  the 
singing,  anyhow." 

She  rose  because  Mrs.  Shaw  had  risen  and  was 
looking  for  her  parasol  and  shaking  out  her  plumes. 
But  why  did  Mr.  Fitzroy  and  Mrs.  Shaw  both  stare 
at  her  in  an  unvarnished  surprise,  touched  with 
ridicule  on  the  lady's  side? 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  Stewart,  that  won't  do!"  cried  he, 
in  obvious  dismay.  At  the  same  moment  Mrs. 
Shaw  ejaculated,  ironically: 

"That's  very  brave  of  you  Mildred!  I  thought 
you  hated  music  and  were  never  going  to  try  to 
sing  again." 

She  and  Fitzroy  had  both  been  present  on  an 
occasion  when  Mildred,  urged  on  by  Milly's  musical 
reputation,  had  committed  herself  to  an  experi 
ment  in  song  which  had  not  been  successful. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  Mrs.  Shaw  went  on, 
"  for  offering  to  change,  but  of  course  Lady  Wolver 
cote  must  arrange  things  as  she  likes ;  and,  to  speak 
frankly,  I'm  not  particularly  sorry  to  give  the  act- 

112 


THE   INVADER 

ing  up,  as  my  husband  was  rather  upset  at  my  not 
being  able  to  go  to  Switzerland  with  him  on  the 
28th.  No,  please  don't  trouble;  I  can  let  myself 
out.  Good-bye,  Lady  Wolvercote;  I  hope  the 
fair  and  the  theatricals  will  be  a  great  success. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Fitzroy,  good-bye." 

Lady  Wolvercote's  faint  remonstrances  were 
drowned  in  the  adieus,  and  Mrs.  Shaw  sailed  out 
with  flying  colors,  while  Milly  sank  back  abjectly 
into  the  seat  from  which  she  had  risen.  Every  min 
ute  she  was  realizing  with  a  more  awful  clearness 
that  she,  whose  one  appearance  on  the  stage  had 
been  short  and  disastrous,  was  cast  to  play  the 
leading  part  in  a  public  play  before  a  large  and 
brilliant  audience.  She  hardly  heard  Fitzroy's 
bitter  remarks  on  Mrs.  Shaw — not  forgetting  Jim 
Morrison  —  or  Lady  Wolvercote  exclaiming  in  a 
voice  almost  dreamy  with  amazement: 

"Really  it's  too  extraordinary!" 

"  I'm  very  sorry  Mrs.  Shaw  won't  take  the  part," 
said  Milly,  clasping  and  unclasping  her  slender  fin 
gers,  "for  I  know  I  can't  do  it  myself." 

Fitzroy  was  protesting,  but  she  forced  herself 
to  continue:  "You  don't  know  what  I'm  like 
when  I'm  nervous.  When  we  had  tableaux  vivants 
at  Ascham  I  was  supposed  to  be  Charlotte  putting 
a  wreath  on  Werther's  urn,  and  I  trembled  so 
much  that  I  knocked  the  urn  down.  It  was  only 
card -board,  so  it  didn't  break,  but  every  one 
laughed  and  the  tableau  was  spoiled." 

Fitzroy  and  his  aunt  cried  out  that  that  was 
nothing,  a  first  appearance ;  any  one  could  see  she 


THE    INVADER 

had  got  over  that  now.  Pale,  with  terrified  eyes, 
she  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  her  tormentors, 
who  continued  to  sing  the  praises  of  her  past  prowess 
on  the  boards  and  to  foretell  the  unprecedented 
harvest  of  laurels  she  would  reap  at  Besselsfield. 
The  higher  their  enthusiasm  rose,  the  more  pro 
found  became  her  dejection.  There  seemed  no 
loop-hole  for  escape,  unless  the  earth  would  open 
and  swallow  her,  which  however  much  to  be  de 
sired  was  hardly  to  be  expected. 

The  ting  of  a  bicycle-bell  below  did  not  seem 
to  promise  assistance,  for  cyclists  affected  the  quiet 
street.  But  it  happened  that  this  bicycle  bore  Ian 
to  the  door.  He  did  not  notice  the  coronet  on  the 
carriage  which  stood  before  it,  and  assumed  it  to 
belong  to  one  of  the  three  or  four  ladies  in  Oxford 
who  kept  such  equipages.  Yet  in  the  blank  state 
of  Milly's  memory,  he  was  sorry  she  had  not  de 
nied  herself  to  visitors,  which  Mildred  had  already 
learned  to  do  with  a  freedom  only  possible  to  women 
who  are  assured  social  success.  Commonly  the 
sight  of  a  carriage  would  have  sent  him  tiptoeing 
past  the  drawing-room,  but  now,  vaguely  uneasy, 
he  came  straight  in.  He  looked  particularly  tall  in 
the  frame  of  the  doorway,  so  low  that  his  black 
hair  almost  touched  the  lintel;  particularly  hand 
some  in  the  shaded,  white-panelled  room,  into  which 
the  dark  glow  of  his  sunburned  skin  and  brown  eyes, 
bright  with  exercise,  seemed  to  bring  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  summer  earth  and  sky. 

Milly  sprang  to  meet  him.  Lady  Wolvercote 
was  surprised  to  learn  that  this  was  Mrs.  Stewart's 

114 


THE   INVADER 

husband.  She  had  no  idea  a  Don  could  be  so 
young  and  good-looking.  Judging  of  Dons  solely 
by  the  slight  and  slighting  references  of  her  under 
graduate  relatives,  she  had  imagined  them  to  be 
weird-looking  men,  within  various  measurable  dis 
tances  of  the  grave. 

"Lady  Wolvercote  and  Mr.  Fitzroy  want  me  to 
act  Galatea  at  the  Besselsfield  theatricals,"  said 
Milly,  clinging  to  his  sleeve  and  looking  up  at  him 
with  appealing  eyes.  "Please  tell  them  I  can't 
possibly  do  it.  I'm — I'm  not  well  enough — am  I  ?" 

"We're  within  three  weeks  of  the  performance, 
sir,"  put  in  Fitzroy.  "  Mrs.  Stewart  promised  she'd 
do  it,  and  we  shall  be  in  a  regular  fix  now  if  she  gives 
it  up.  Mrs.  Shaw's  chucked  us  already." 

"Yes,  and  every  one  says  how  splendidly  Mrs. 
Stewart  acts,"  pleaded  Lady  Wolvercote. 

Stewart  had  half  forgotten  the  matter;  but  now 
he  remembered  that  Mildred  had  been  keen  to  have 
the  part  only  a  week  ago,  and  a  little  pettish  be 
cause  he  had  advised  her  to  leave  it  alone,  on  ac 
count  of  Mrs.  Shaw.  Now  she  was  hanging  on  him 
with  desperate  eyes  and  that  worried  brow  which 
he  had  not  seen  once  since  he  had  married  her. 

"I'm  extremely  sorry,  Lady  Wolvercote,"  he 
said,  "but  my  wife's  had  a  nervous  break -down 
lately  and  I  can't  allow  her  to  act.  She's  not  fit 
for  it." 

"Ah,  I  see — I  quite  understand!"  returned  Lady 
Wolvercote.  "But  we'd  take  great  care  of  her, 
Mr.  Stewart.  She  could  come  and  stay  at  Bessels 
field." 

"5 


THE   INVADER 

Fitzroy's  gloom  lifted.  His  aunt  was  a  trump. 
Surely  an  invitation  to  Besselsfield  must  do  the 
job.  But  Stewart,  though  apologetic,  was  inflex 
ible.  He  had  forbidden  his  wife  to  act  and  there 
was  an  end  of  it.  The  perception  of  the  differences 
between  the  two  personalities  of  Milly  which  had 
been  thrust  to-day  on  his  unwilling  mind,  made 
him  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  frantic  appeals  for 
protection.  He  relieved  her  of  all  responsibility 
for  her  refusal  to  act. 

Lady  Wolvercote  observed,  as  she  and  her  nephew 
went  sadly  on  their  way,  that  Mr.  Stewart  seemed 
a  very,  very  odd  man  in  spite  of  his  presentable 
manners  and  appearance;  and  Fitzroy  replied 
gloomily  that  of  course  he  was  a  beast.  Dons  al 
ways  were  beasts.  • 


CHAPTER  XIII 

'"PHE  diplomatic  incident  of  the  theatricals  was 
1  not  the  only  minor  trouble  which  Milly  found 
awaiting  her.  The  cook's  nerves  were  upset  by 
a  development  of  rigid  economy  on  the  part  of  her 
mistress,  and  she  gave  notice;  the  house  parlor 
maid  followed  suit.  No  one  seemed  to  have  kept 
lan's  desk  tidy,  his  papers  in  order,  or  his  clothes 
properly  mended.  It  was  a  joy  to  her  to  put 
everything  belonging  to  him  right. 

When  all  was  arranged  to  her  satisfaction :  "  Ian," 
she  said,  sitting  on  his  knee  with  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  "  I  can't  bear  to  think  how  wretched  you 
must  have  been  all  the  time  I  was  away." 

Ian  was  silent  a  minute. 

"  But  you  haven't  been  away,  and  I  don't  like 
you  to  talk  as  though  you  had." 

Wretched  ?  It  would  have  been  absurd  to  think 
of  himself  as  wretched  now ;  yet  compared  with  the 
wonderful  happiness  that  had  been  his  for  more 
than  half  a  year,  what  was  this  "house  swept  and 
garnished  "  ?  An  empty  thing.  Words  of  Tims's 
which  he  had  thought  irritating  and  absurd  at  the 
time,  haunted  him  now.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you  haven't  seen  the  difference?"  He  might  not 
have  seen  it,  but  he  had  felt  it.  He  felt  it  now. 

117 


THE   INVADER 

There  was  at  any  rate  no  longer  any  question  of 
Dieppe.  They  took  lodgings  at  Sheringham  and 
he  made  good  progress  with  his  book.  Yet  not 
quite  so  good  as  he  had  hoped.  Milly  was  in 
defatigable  in  looking  up  points  and  references,  in 
preventing  him  from  slipping  into  the  small  in 
accuracies  to  which  he  was  prone;  but  he  missed 
the  stimulus  of  Mildred's  alert  mind,  so  quick  to  hit 
a  blot  in  logic  or  in  taste,  so  vivid  in  appreciation. 

Milly  meantime  guessed  nothing  of  his  dissatis 
faction.  She  adored  her  husband  more  every  day, 
and  her  happiness  would  have  been  perfect  had 
it  not  been  for  the  haunting  horror  of  the  pos 
sible  "change"  which  might  be  lurking  for  her 
round  the  corner  of  any  night  —  that  "change," 
which  other  people  might  call  what  they  liked,  but 
which  meant  for  her  the  robbery  of  her  life,  her 
young  happy  life  with  Ian.  He  had  taken  her  twice 
to  Norton- Smith  before  the  great  man  went  for 
his  holiday.  Norton-Smith  had  pronounced  it  a 
peculiar  but  not  unprecedented  case  of  collapse  of 
memory,  caused  by  overwork;  and  had  spent  most 
of  the  consultation  time  in  condemning  the  higher 
education  of  women.  Time,  rest,  and  the  fulfilment 
of  woman's  proper  function  of  maternity  would, 
he  affirmed,  bring  all  right,  since  there  was  no 
sign  of  disease  in  Mrs.  Stewart,  who  appeared 
to  him,  on  the  contrary,  a  perfectly  healthy 
young  woman.  When  Ian,  alone  with  him,  be 
gan  tentatively  to  bring  to  the  doctor's  notice  the 
changes  in  character  and  intelligence  that  had 
accompanied  the  losses  of  memory,  he  found  his 

118 


THE    INVADER 

remarks  set  aside  like  the  chatter  of  a  foolish 
child. 

If  maternity  would  indeed  exorcise  the  Invader, 
Milly  had  lost  no  time  in  beginning  the  exorcism. 
And  she  did  believe  that  somehow  it  would;  not 
because  the  doctor  said  so,  but  because  she  could 
not  believe  God  would  let  a  child's  mother  be 
changed  in  that  way,  at  any  rate  while  she  was 
bearing  it.  To  do  so  would  be  to  make  it  more 
motherless  than  any  little  living  thing  on  earth. 
Milly  had  always  been  quietly  but  deeply  re 
ligious,  and  she  struggled  hard  against  the  feeling 
of  peculiar  injustice  in  this  strange  affliction  that 
had  been  sent  to  her.  She  prayed  earnestly 
to  God  every  night  to  help  and  protect  her 
and  her  child,  and  the  period  of  six  or  seven 
months,  at  which  the  "change"  had  come  before, 
passed  without  a  sign  of  it.  In  April  a  little  boy 
was  born.  They  called  him  Antonio,  after  a  learned 
Italian,  a  friend  and  teacher  of  lan's. 

The  advent  of  the  child  did  something  to  explain 
the  comparative  seclusion  into  which  Mrs.  Stewart 
had  retired,  and  the  curious  dulling  of  that  brilliant 
personality  of  hers.  The  Master  of  Durham  was 
among  the  few  of  Mrs.  Stewart's  admirers  who  de 
clined  to  recognize  the  change  in  her.  He  had  been 
attracted  by  the  girl  Milly  Flaxman,  by  her  gentle, 
shy  manners  and  pretty  face,  combined  with  her 
reputation  for  scholarship;  the  brilliant  Invader 
had  continued  to  attract  him  in  another  way. 
The  difference  between  the  two,  if  faced,  would 
have  been  disagreeably  mysterious.  He  preferred 

119 


THE    INVADER 

to  say  and  think  that  there  was  none ;  Mrs.  Stewart 
was  probably  not  very  well. 

Milly's  shyness  made  it  peculiarly  awkward  for 
her  to  find  herself  in  possession  of  a  number  of 
friends  whom  she  would  not  have  chosen  herself, 
and  of  whose  doings  and  belongings  she  was  in 
complete  ignorance.  However,  if  she  gave  offence 
she  was  unconscious  of  it,  and  it  came  very  nat 
urally  to  her  to  shrink  back  into  the  shadow  of  her 
household  gods.  Ian  and  the  baby  were  almost 
sufficient  in  themselves  to  fill  her  life.  There  was 
just  room  on  the  outskirts  of  it  for  a  few  relations 
and  old  friends,  and  Aunt  Beatrice  still  held  her 
honored  place.  But  it  was  through  Aunt  Beatrice 
that  she  was  first  to  learn  the  feel  of  a  certain  dull 
heartache  which  was  destined  to  grow  upon  her 
like  some  fell  disease,  a  thing  of  ceaseless  pain. 

She  was  especially  anxious  to  get  Aunt  Beatrice, 
who  had  been  in  America  all  the  Summer  Vaca 
tion,  to  stay  with  them  in  the  Autumn  Term  as  Lady 
Thomson  had  been  with  them  in  May,  and  Milly  did 
not  like  to  think  of  the  number  of  things,  all  wrong, 
which  she  was  sure  to  have  noticed  in  the  house.  Be 
sides,  what  with  theatricals  and  other  engagements, 
it  was  evident  that  a  good  many  people  had  been 
"in  and  out"  in  the  Summer  Term — a  condition  of 
life  which  Lady  Thomson  always  denounced.  Milly 
was  anxious  for  her  to  see  that  that  phase  was  past 
and  that  her  favorite  niece  had  settled  down  into  the 
quiet,  well-ordered  existence  of  which  she  approved. 

Aunt  Beatrice  came;  but  oh,  disappointment!  If 
it  had  been  possible  to  say  of  Lady  Thomson,  whose 

120 


THE   INVADER 

moods  were  under  almost  perfect  control,  that  she 
was  out  of  temper,  Milly  would  have  said  it.  She 
volunteered  no  opinion,  but  when  asked,  she  com 
pared  Milly's  new  cook  unfavorably  with  her  former 
one.  When  her  praise  was  anxiously  sought,  she 
observed  that  it  was  undesirable  to  be  careless  in 
one's  housekeeping,  but  less  disagreeable  than  to 
be  fussy  and  house-proud.  She  added  that  Milly 
— whom  she  called  Mildred — must  be  on  her  guard 
against  relaxing  into  domestic  dulness,  when  she 
could  be  so  extremely  clever  and  charming  if  she 
liked.  Milly  was  bewildered  and  distressed.  She 
felt  sure  that  she  had  passed  through  a  phase  of 
which  Aunt  Beatrice  ought  to  have  disapproved. 
She  had  evidently  been  frivolous  and  neglectful  of 
her  duties;  yet  it  seemed  as  though  her  aunt  had 
been  better  pleased  with  her  when  she  was  like 
that.  What  could  have  made  Aunt  Beatrice,  of 
all  women,  unkind  and  unjust  ? 

In  this  way  more  than  a  year  went  by.  The 
baby  grew  and  was  short-coated ;  the  October  Term 
came  round  once  more,  and  still  Milly  remained 
the  same  Milly.  To  have  wished  it  otherwise  would 
have  seemed  like  wishing  for  her  death. 

But  at  times  a  great  longing  for  another,  quite  an 
other,  came  over  Ian.  It  was  like  a  longing  for  the 
beloved  dead.  Of  course  it  was  mad  —  mad !  He 
struggled  against  the  feeling,  and  generally  succeeded 
in  getting  back  to  the  point  of  view  that  the  change 
had  been  more  in  himself,  in  his  own  emotional 
moods,  than  in  Milly. 

October,    the    golden    month,    passed    by   and 

121 


THE    INVADER 

November  came  in,  soft  and  dim;  a  merry  month 
for  the  hunting  men  beside  the  coverts,  where  the 
red-brown  leaves  still  hung  on  the  oak-trees  and 
brushwood,  and  among  the  grassy  lanes,  the  wide 
fresh  fields  and  open  hill-sides.  No  ill  month  either 
for  those  who  love  to  light  the  lamp  early  and  open 
their  books  beside  a  cheerful  fire.  But  then  the 
rain  came,  a  persistent,  soaking  rain.  Milly  always 
went  to  her  district  on  Tuesdays,  no  matter  what 
the  weather,  and  this  time  she  caught  a  cold.  Ian 
urged  her  to  stop  in  bed  next  morning.  He  him 
self  had  to  be  in  College  early,  and  could  not  come 
home  till  the  afternoon. 

It  was  still  raining  and  the  early  falling  twilight 
was  murky  and  brown.  The  dull  yellow  glare  of 
the  street-lamps  was  faintly  reflected  in  the  muddy 
wetness  of  pavements  and  streets.  He  was  carry 
ing  a  great  armful  of  books  and  papers  under  his 
dripping  mackintosh  and  umbrella.  As  he  walked 
homeward  as  fast  as  his  inconvenient  load  allowed, 
he  became  acutely  conscious  of  a  depression  of 
spirits  which  had  been  growing  upon  him  all  day. 
It  was  the  weather,  he  argued,  affecting  his  nerves 
or  digestion.  The  vision  of  a  warm,  cosey  house,  a 
devoted  wife  awaiting  him,  ought  to  have  cheered 
him,  but  it  did  not.  He  hoped  he  would  not  feel 
irritable  when  Milly  rushed  into  the  hall  as  soon  as 
his  key  was  heard  in  the  front  door,  to  feel  him  all 
over  and  take  every  damp  thread  tragically.  Poor 
dear  Milly!  What  a  discontented  brute  of  a  hus 
band  she  had  got!  The  fault  was  no  doubt  with 
himself,  and  he  would  not  really  be  happy  even  if 

122 


THE    INVADER 

some  miracle  did  set  him  down  on  a  sunny  Medi 
terranean  shore,  with  enough  money  to  live  upon 
and  nothing  to  think  of  but  his  book.  Mildred  used 
to  say  that  she  always  went  to  a  big  dinner  at 
Durham  in  the  unquenchable  hope  of  meeting 
and  fascinating  some  millionaire  who  had  sense 
enough  to  see  how  much  better  it  would  be  to  endow 
writers  of  good  books  than  readers  of  silly  ones. 

With  the  recollection  there  rang  in  the  ears  of  his 
mind  the  sound  of  a  laugh  which  he  had  not  heard 
for  seventeen  months.  Something  seemed  to  tighten 
about  his  heart.  Yes,  he  could  be  quite  happy 
without  the  millionaire,  without  the  sunny  skies, 
without  even  the  pretty,  comfortable  home  at  whose 
door  he  stood,  if  somewhere,  anywhere,  he  could 
hope  to  hear  that  laugh  again,  to  hold  again  in  his 
arms  the  strange  bright  bride  who  had  melted  from 
them  like  snow  in  spring-time — but  that  way  mad 
ness  lay.  He  thrust  the  involuntary  longing  from 
him  almost  with  horror,  and  turned  the  latch-key 
in  his  door. 

The  hall  lamp  was  burning  low  and  the  house 
seemed  very  chilly  and  quiet.  He  put  his  books 
down  on  the  oak  table,  threw  his  streaming  mack 
intosh  upon  the  large  chest,  and  went  up  to  his 
dressing-room,  to  change  whatever  was  still  damp 
about  him  before  seeking  Milly,  who  presumably 
was  nursing  her  cold  before  the  study  fire.  When 
he  had  thrown  off  his  shoes,  he  noticed  that  the 
door  leading  to  his  wife's  room  was  ajar  and  a  faint 
red  glow  of  firelight  showed  invitingly  through  the 
chink.  A  fire!  It  was  irresistible.  He  went  in 

123 


THE   INVADER 

quickly  and  stirred  the  coals  to  a  roaring  blaze.  The 
dancing  flames  lit  up  the  long,  low  room  with  its 
few  pieces  of  furniture,  its  high  white  wainscoting, 
and  paper  patterned  with  birds  and  trellised  leaves. 
They  lit  up  the  low  white  bed  and  the  white  figure 
of  his  sleeping  wife.  Till  then  he  had  thought 
the  room  was  empty.  She  lay  there  so  deathly 
still  and  straight  that  he  was  smitten  with  a  sudden 
fear ;  but  leaning  over  her  he  heard  her  quiet,  reg 
ular  breathing  and  saw  that  if  somewhat  pale,  she 
was  normal  in  color.  He  touched  her  hand.  It 
was  withdrawn  by  a  mechanical  movement,  but 
not  before  he  had  felt  that  it  was  warm. 

A  wild  excitement  thrilled  him;  it  would  have 
been  truer  to  say  a  wild  joy,  only  that  it  held  a 
pang  of  remorse  for  itself.  So  she  had  lain  at  the 
Hotel  du  Chalet  when  he  had  left  her  for  that  long 
walk  over  the  crisp  mountain  snow.  And  when  he 
had  returned,  she — what  She?  No,  his  brain  did 
not  reel  on  the  verge  of  madness ;  it  merely  accepted 
under  the  compulsion  of  knowledge  a  truth  of  those 
truths  that  are  too  profound  to  admit  of  mere  ex 
ternal  proof.  For  our  reason  plays  at  the  edge  of 
the  universe  as  a  little  child  plays  at  the  edge  of 
the  sea,  gathering  from  its  fringes  the  flotsam  and 
jetsam  of  its  mighty  life.  But  miles  and  miles  be 
yond  the  ken  of  the  eager  eye,  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  alert  hand,  lies  the  whole  great  secret  life  of  the 
sea.  And  if  it  were  all  laid  bare  and  spread  at  the 
child's  feet,  how  could  the  little  hand  suffice  to 
gather  its  vast  treasures,  the  inexperienced  eye  to 
perceive  and  classify  them  ? 

124 


THE    INVADER 

Alone  in  the  firelit,  silent  room,  with  this  tranced 
form  before  him,  Ian  Stewart  knew  that  the  woman 
who  would  arise  from  that  bed  would  be  a  different 
woman  from  the  one  who  had  lain  down  upon  it. 
By  what  mysterious  alchemy  of  nature  transmuted 
he  could  not  understand,  any  more  than  he  could 
understand  the  greater  part  of  the  workings  of 
that  cosmic  energy  which  he  was  compelled  to 
recognize,  although  he  might  be  cheated  with 
words  into  believing  that  he  understood  them. 
Another  woman  would  arise  and  she  his  Love. 
She  had  been  gone  so  long ;  his  heart  had  hungered 
for  her  so  long,  in  silence  even  to  himself.  She 
had  been  dead  and  now  she  was  about  to  be  raised 
from  the  dead.  He  lighted  the  candles,  locked  the 
doors,  and  paced  softly  up  and  down,  stopping  to 
look  at  the  figure  on  the  bed  from  time  to  time. 
Far  around  him,  close  about  him,  life  was  moving 
at  its  usual  jog-trot  pace.  People  were  going  back 
to  their  College  rooms  or  domestic  hearths,  grum 
bling  about  the  weather  or  their  digestions  or  their 
colds,  thinking  of  their  work  for  the  evening  or  of 
their  dinner  engagements — and  suddenly  a  door  had 
shut  between  him  and  all  that  outside  world.  He 
was  no  longer  moving  in  the  driven  herd.  He  was 
alone,  above  them  in  an  upper  chamber,  awaiting  the 
miracle  of  resurrection. 

In  the  visions  that  passed  before  his  mind's  eye 
the  face  of  Milly,  pale,  with  pleading  eyes,  was 
not  absent;  but  with  a  strange  hardness  which  he 
had  never  felt  before,  he  thrust  the  sighing  phantom 
from  him.  She  had  had  her  turn  of  happiness,  a 

"5 


THE    INVADER 

long  one;  it  was  only  fair  that  now  they  two,  he 
and  that  Other,  should  have  their  chance,  should 
put  their  lips  to  the  full  cup  of  life.  The  figure  on 
the  bed  stirred,  turned  on  one  side,  and  slipped  a 
hand  under  the  pure  curve  of  the  young  cheek. 
He  was  by  the  bed  in  a  moment ;  but  it  still  slept, 
though  less  profoundly,  without  that  tranced  look, 
as  though  the  flame  of  life  itself  burned  low  within. 

How  would  she  first  greet  him?  Last  time  she 
had  leaned  into  the  clear  sunshine  and  laughed 
to  him  from  the  cloud  of  her  amber  hair;  and  a 
spirit  in  his  blood  had  leaped  to  the  music  of  her 
laugh,  even  while  the  rational  self  knew  not  it 
was  the  lady  of  his  love.  But  however  she  came 
back  it  would  be  she,  the  Beloved.  He  felt  exultant 
ly  how  little,  after  all,  the  frame  mattered.  Last 
time  he  had  found  her,  his  love  had  been  set  in  the 
sunshine  and  the  splendor  of  the  Alpine  snows,  with 
nothing  to  jar,  nothing  to  distract  it  from  itself. 
And  that  was  good.  To-day,  it  was  opening,  a 
sudden  and  wonderful  bloom,  in  the  midst  of  the 
murky  discomfort  of  an  English  November,  the 
droning  hum  of  the  machinery  of  his  daily  work. 
And  this,  too,  was  good. 

Yes,  it  was  better  because  of  the  contrast  between 
the  wonder  and  its  environment,  better  because  he 
himself  was  more  conscious  of  his  joy.  He  sat  on 
the  bed  a  while  watching  her  impatiently.  In  his 
eyes  she  was  already  filled  with  a  new  loveliness, 
but  he  wanted  her  hair,  her  amber  hair.  It  was 
brushed  back  and  imprisoned  tightly  in  a  little 
plait  tied  with  a  white  ribbon — Milly's  way.  With 

126 


THE    INVADER 

fingers  clumsy,  yet  gentle,  he  took  off  the  ribbon 
and  cautiously  undid  the  plait.  Then  he  took  a 
comb  and  spread  out  the  silk-soft  hair  more  as 
he  liked  to  see  it,  pleased  with  his  own  skill  in  the 
unaccustomed  task.  She  stirred  again,  but  still 
she  did  not  wake.  He  was  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room  when  she  raised  herself  a  little  on  her 
pillow  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  opposite  wall. 
Ian  held  his  breath.  He  stood  perfectly  still  and 
watched  her.  Presently  she  sat  up  and  looked 
about  her,  looked  at  him  with  a  faint,  vague  smile, 
like  that  of  a  baby.  He  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  and  took  her  hand.  She  smiled  at  him  again, 
this  time  with  more  definite  meaning. 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  is,  sweetheart  ?"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice.  She  nodded  slightly  and  went  on 
smiling,  as  though  quietly  happy. 

"Ian,"  she  breathed,  at  length. 

"Yes,  darling." 

"  I've  been  away  a  long,  long  time.     How  long  ?" 

He  told  her. 

She  uttered  a  little  "Ah!"  and  frowned;  lay  quiet 
awhile,  then  drew  her  hand  from  lan's  and  sat  up 
still  more. 

"I  sha'n't  lie  here  any  longer,"  she  said,  in  a 
stronger  voice.  "It's  just  waste  of  time."  She 
pushed  back  the  clothes  and  swung  her  feet  out  of 
bed.  "Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  be  back  again!  Are 
you  glad  I'm  back,  Ian?  Say  you  are,  do  say  you 
are!" 

And  Ian  on  his  knees  before  her,  said  that  he  was. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IAN  was  leaning  against  the  high  mantel  -  piece 
of  his  study.  Above  it,  let  into  the  panelling, 
was  an  eighteenth-century  painting  of  the  Bridge 
and  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  browned  by  time.  He 
was  wondering  how  to  tell  Mildred  about  the  child, 
and  whether  she  would  resent  its  presence.  She, 
too,  was  meditating,  chin  on  hand.  At  length  she 
looked  up  with  a  sudden  smile. 

"What  about  the  baby,  Ian?  Don't  you  take 
any  notice  of  it  yet  ?" 

He  was  surprised. 

"How  do  you  know  about  him?" 

She  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"  I  seem  to  know  things  that  have  happened  in  a 
kind  of  way — rather  as  though  I  had  seen  them  in 
a  dream.  But  they  haven't  happened  to  me,  you 
know." 

"  Was  it  the  same  last  time  ?" 

"No;  but  the  first  time  I  came,  and  especially 
just  at  first,  I  seemed  to  remember  all  kinds  of 
things — "  She  paused  as  though  trying  in  vain  to 
revive  her  impressions — "Odd  things,  not  a  bit 
like  anything  in  Oxford.  I  can't  recall  them  now, 
but  sometimes  in  London  I  fancy  I've  seen  places 
before." 

128 


THE    INVADER 

"Of  course  you  have,  dear." 

"  And  the  first  time  I  saw  that  old  picture  there 
I  knew  it  was  Rome,  and  I  had  a  notion  that  I'd 
been  there  and  seen  just  that  view." 

"You've  been  seeing  pictures  and  reading  books 
and  hearing  talk  all  your  life,  and  in  the  peculiar 
state  of  your  memory,  I  suppose  you  can't  dis 
tinguish  between  the  impressions  made  on  it  by 
facts  and  by  ideas." 

Mildred  was  silent ;  but  it  was  not  the  silence  of 
conviction.  Then  she  jumped  up. 

"I'm  going  to  see  Baby.  You  needn't  come  if 
you  don't  want." 

He  hesitated. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  too  late.  Milly  doesn't  like — " 
He  broke  off  with  a  wild  laugh.  "  What  am  I  talk 
ing  about!" 

"I  suppose  you  were  going  to  say,  Milly  doesn't 
like  people  taking  a  candle  into  the  room  when 
Baby  is  shut  up  for  the  night.  I  don't  care  what 
Milly  likes.  He's  my  baby  now,  and  he's  sure  to 
look  a  duck  when  he's  asleep.  Come  along!" 

She  put  her  arm  through  his  and  together  they 
climbed  the  steep  staircase  to  the  nursery. 

Mildred  had  returned  to  the  world  in  such  ex 
cellent  spirits  at  merely  being  there,  that  she  took 
those  awkward  situations  which  Milly  had  in 
evitably  bequeathed  to  her,  as  capital  jokes.  The 
partial  and  external  acquaintance  with  Milly 's 
doings  and  points  of  view  which  she  had  brought 
back  with  her,  made  everything  easier  than  before ; 
but  her  derisive  dislike  of  her  absent  rival  was 
9  129 


THE    INVADER 

intensified.  It  pained  Ian  if  she  dropped  a  hint 
of  it.  Tims  was  the  only  person  to  whom  she 
could  have  the  comfort  of  expressing  herself;  and 
even  Tims  made  faces  and  groaned  faintly,  as 
though  she  did  not  enjoy  Mildred's  wit  when  Milly 
was  the  subject  of  it.  She  gave  Milly's  cook  notice 
at  once,  but  most  things  she  found  in  a  satisfactory 
state — particularly  the  family  finances.  More  neg 
atively  satisfactory  was  the  state  of  her  wardrobe, 
since  so  little  had  been  bought.  Mildred  still 
shuddered  at  the  recollection  of  the  trousseau 
frocks. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Stewart,  whose  social  career  had 
been  like  that  of  the  proverbial  rocket  shot  up  into 
the  zenith.  But  a  life  of  mere  amusement  was  not 
the  fashion  in  the  circle  in  which  she  lived,  and  her 
active  brain  and  easily  aroused  sympathies  made 
her  quick  to  take  up  more  serious  interests. 

It  seemed  wiser,  too,  to  make  no  sudden  break 
with  Milly's  habits.  Still,  Emma,  the  nurse,  opined 
that  Baby  got  on  all  the  better  since  Mrs.  Stewart 
had  become  "more  used  to  him  like" — wasn't 
always  changing  his  food,  taking  his  temperature, 
wanting  him  to  have  bandages  and  medicine,  for 
bidding  him  to  be  talked  to  or  sung  to,  and  pulling 
his  little,  curling-up  limbs  straight  when  he  was  go 
ing  to  sleep.  He  was  a  healthy  little  fellow  and 
already  pretty,  with  his  soft  dark  hair — softer  than 
anything  in  the  world  except  a  baby's  hair — his 
delicate  eyebrows  and  bright  dark  eyes.  Mildred 
loved  playing  with  him.  Sometimes  when  Ian 
heard  the  tiny  shrieks  of  baby  laughter,  he  used 

130 


THE    INVADER 

to  think  with  a  smile  and  yet  with  a  pang  of  pity, 
how  shocked  poor  Milly  would  have  been  at  this 
titillation  of  the  infant  brain.  But  he  did  not  want 
thoughts  of  Milly — so  far  as  he  could  he  shut  the 
door  of  his  mind  against  them.  She  would  come 
back,  no  doubt,  sooner  or  later;  and  her  coming 
back  would  mean  that  Mildred  would  be  robbed  of 
her  life,  his  own  life  robbed  of  its  joy. 

At  the  end  of  Term  the  Master  of  Durham  sent 
a  note  to  bid  the  Stewarts  to  dine  with  him  and 
meet  Sir  Henry  Milwood,  the  rich  Australian,  and 
Maxwell  Davison,  the  traveller  and  Orientalist. 
Ian  remarked  that  Davison  was  a  cousin,  al 
though  they  had  not  met  since  he  was  a  boy. 
Maxwell  Davison  had  gone  to  the  East  originally  as 
agent  for  some  big  firm,  and  had  spent  there  nearly 
twenty  years.  He  was  an  accomplished  Persian 
and  Arabic  scholar,  and  gossip  related  that  he  had 
run  off  with  a  fair  Persian  from  a  Constantinople 
harem  and  lived  with  her  in  Persia  until  her  death. 
But  that  was  years  ago. 

When  the  Stewarts  entered  the  Master's  bare 
bachelor  drawing-room,  they  found  besides  the 
Milwoods,  only  familiar  faces.  Maxwell  Davison 
was  still  awaited,  and  with  interest.  He  came,  and 
that  interest  did  not  appear  to  be  mutual,  judging 
from  the  Oriental  impassivity  of  his  long,  brown 
face,  with  its  narrow,  inscrutable  eyes.  He  was 
tall,  slight,  sinewy  as  a  Bedouin,  his  age  uncertain, 
since  his  dry  leanness  and  the  dash  of  silver  at  his 
temples  might  be  the  effect  of  burning  desert  suns. 

Mildred  was  delighted  at  first  at  being  sent  into 


THE    INVADER 

dinner  with  him,  but  she  found  him  disappointingly 
taciturn.  In  truth,  he  had  acquired  Oriental  habits 
and  views  with  regard  to  women.  If  a  foolish  Occi 
dental  custom  demanded  that  they  should  sit  at 
meat  with  the  lords  of  creation,  he,  Maxwell  Davi- 
son,  would  not  pretend  to  acquiesce  in  it.  Mil 
dred,  to  whom  it  was  unthinkable  that  any  man 
should  not  wish  to  talk  to  her,  merely  pitied  his 
shyness  and  determined  to  break  it  down;  but 
Davison's  attitude  was  unbending. 

After  dinner  the  Master,  his  mortar-board  cap  on 
his  head,  opened  the  drawing-room  door  and  invit 
ed  them  to  come  across  to  the  College  Library  to 
see  some  bronzes  and  a  few  other  things  that  Mr. 
Davison  had  temporarily  deposited  there.  He  had 
divined  that  Maxwell  Davison  would  be  willing  to 
sell,  and  in  his  guileful  soul  the  little  Master  may 
have  had  schemes  of  persuading  his  wealthy  friend 
Milwood  to  purchase  any  bronzes  that  might  be  of 
value  to  the  College  or  the  University.  Of  the 
ladies,  only  Mildred  and  Miss  Moore,  the  archaeolo 
gist,  braved  the  chill  of  the  mediaeval  Library  to 
inspect  the  collection.  Davison  professed  to  no 
artistic  or  antiquarian  knowledge  of  the  bronzes. 
They  had  come  to  him  in  the  way  of  trade  and  had 
all  been  dug  up  in  Asia  Minor — no,  not  all,  for  one 
he  had  picked  up  in  England.  Nevertheless  he  had 
succeeded  in  getting  a  pretty  clear  notion  of  the 
relative  value  of  his  bronzes — the  Oriental  curios 
with  them  it  was  his  business  to  understand.  He 
could  not  help  observing  the  sure  instinct  with 
which  Mrs.  Stewart  selected  what  was  best  among 

132 


THE   INVADER 

all  these  different  objects.  She  had  the  flair  of  the 
born  collector.  The  learned  archaeologists  present 
leaned  over  the  collection  discussing  and  disputing, 
and  took  no  notice  of  her  remarks  as  she  rapidly 
handled  each  article.  But  Davison  did,  and  when 
at  length  she  took  up  a  small  figure  of  Augustus — 
the  bronze  that  had  not  come  from  Asia  Minor — 
and  looked  at  it  with  a  peculiar  doubtful  intent- 
ness,  he  began  to  feel  uncomfortable. 

"Anything  wrong  with  that?"  he  asked,  in  spite 
of  himself. 

She  laughed  nervously. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Davison,  please  ask  some  one  who 
knows!  I  don't.  Only  I — I  seem  to  have  seen 
something  like  it  before,  that's  all." 

Sanderson,  roaming  around  the  professed  ar 
chaeologists,  took  the  bronze  from  her  hands. 

"I'll  tell  you  where  you've  seen  it,  Mrs.  Stewart. 
It's  engraved  in  Egerton's  Private  Collections  of  Great 
Britain.  I  picked  that  up  the  other  day — first  edi 
tion,  1818.  I  dare  say  the  book's  here.  We'll  see." 

Sanderson  took  a  candle  and  went  glimmering 
away  down  the  long,  dark  room. 

"What  can  this  be?"  asked  Mildred,  taking  up 
what  looked  like  a  glass  ball. 

"Please  stand  over  here  and  look  into  it  for  five 
minutes,"  returned  Davison,  evasively.  "Per 
haps  you'll  see  what  it  is  then." 

He  somehow  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Mildred's  ap 
praisal  of  his  goods. 

"Mr.  Davison,  your  glass  ball  has  gone  quite 
cloudy!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  minute  or  two. 


THE    INVADER 

"That's  all  right.  Go  on  looking  and  you'll  see 
something  more,"  he  returned. 

Presently  she  said : 

"It's  so  curious.  I  see  the  whole  room  reflected 
in  the  glass  now,  but  it's  much  lighter  than  it  really 
is,  and  the  windows  seem  larger.  It  all  looks  so 
different.  There  is  some  one  down  there  in  white." 

Sanderson  came  up  the  room  carrying  a  large 
quarto,  open. 

"Here's  your  bronze,  right  enough,"  he  said, 
putting  the  book  down  on  the  table.  "It's  under 
the  heading,  Hammerton  Collection." 

He  pointed  to  a  small  engraving  inscribed, 
"  Bronze  statuette  of  Augustus.  Very  rare." 

"But  some  fellow's  been  scribbling  something 
here,"  continued  Sanderson,  turning  the  book 
around  to  read  a  note  written  along  the  margin.  He 
read  out :  " '  A  forgery.  Sold  by  Lady  Hammerton 
to  Mr.  Solomons,  1819.  See  case  Solomons  versus 
Hammerton,  1820." 

The  turning  of  the  book  showed  Mildred  a  full- 
page  engraving  entitled,  "The  Gallery,  Hammerton 
House."  It  represented  a  long  room  somewhat 
like  the  one  in  which  they  stood,  but  still  more 
like  the  room  she  had  seen  in  the  crystal;  and  in 
the  middle  distance  there  was  a  slightly  sketched 
figure  of  a  woman  in  a  light  dress.  Half  incredu 
lous,  half  frightened,  she  pored  over  the  engraving 
which  reproduced  so  strangely  the  image  she  had 
seen  in  Maxwell  Davison's  mysterious  ball. 

"How  funny!"  she  almost  whispered. 

"You  may  call  it  funny,  of  course,  that  Lady 


THE    INVADER 

Hammerton  succeeded  in  cheating  a  Jew,  which  is 
what  it  looks  like,"  rejoined  Sanderson,  bent  on 
hunting  down  his  quarry;  "but  it  was  pretty  dis 
creditable  to  her  too." 

"Not  at  all,"  Maxwell  Davison's  harsh  voice 
broke  in.  "That  was  Solomons 's  look  out.  I 
sha'n't  bring  a  lawsuit  against  the  fellow  who  sold 
me  that  Augustus,  if  it  is  a  forgery.  A  man's  a 
fool  to  deal  in  things  he  doesn't  understand." 

"What  is  this  glass  ball,  Mr.  Davison?"  asked 
Miss  Moore,  in  her  turn  taking  up  the  uncanny 
thing  Mildred  had  laid  down. 

"It's  a  divining-crystal.  In  the  East  certain 
people,  mostly  boys,  look  in  these  crystals  and  see 
all  sorts  of  things,  present,  past,  and  co  come." 

Miss  Moore  laughed. 

"Or  pretend  they  do!" 

"Who  knows?  It  isn't  of  any  interest,  really. 
The  things  that  have  happened  have  happened, 
and  the  things  that  are  to  happen  will  happen 
just  as  surely,  whether  we  foresee  them  or  not." 

Miss  Moore  turned  to  the  Master. 

"Look,  Master — this  is  a  divining-crystal,  and 
Mr.  Davison's  trying  to  persuade  me  that  in  the 
East  people  really  see  visions  in  it." 

The  Master  smiled. 

"Mr.  Davison  has  a  poor  opinion  of  ladies'  in 
telligence,  I'm  afraid.  He  thinks  they  are  children, 
who  will  believe  any  fairy  tale." 

Davison  had  drawn  near  to  Mildred  as  the 
Master  spoke ;  his  eyes  met  hers  and  the  impassive 
face  wore  a  faint,  ironical  smile. 


THE    INVADER 

"  The  Wisdom  of  the  West  speaks !"  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  low  voice.  "I'd  almost  forgotten  the  sound 
of  it." 

Then  scrutinizing  her  pale  face:  "I'm  afraid 
you've  had  a  scare.  What  did  you  see?" 

"  I  saw — well,  I  fancy  I  saw  the  Gallery  at  Ham- 
merton  House  and  my  ancestress,  Lady  Hammer- 
ton.  It  was  burned,  you  know,  and  she  was 
burned  with  it,  trying  to  save  her  collections.  I 
expect  she  condescended  to  give  me  a  glimpse  of 
them  because  I've  inherited  her  mania.  I'd  be  a 
collector,  too,  if  I  had  the  money." 

She  laughed  nervously. 

"You  should  take  Ian  to  the  East,"  returned 
Davison.  "  You  could  make  money  there  and  learn 
things — the  Wisdom  of  the  East,  for  instance." 

Mildred,  recovering  her  equanimity,  smiled  at 
him. 

"  No,  never!  The  Wisdom  of  the  West  engrosses 
us;  but  you'll  come  and  tell  us  about  the  other, 
won't  you?" 


M 


CHAPTER  XV 

AXWELL  DAVISON  settled  in  Oxford  for 

six  months,  in  order  to  see  his  great  book  on 
Persian  Literature  through  the  press.  His  advent 
had  been  looked  forward  to  as  promising  a  welcome 
variety,  bringing  a  splash  of  vivid  color  into  a 
somewhat  quiet -hued,  monotonous  world.  But 
there  was  doomed  to  be  some  disappointment.  Mr. 
Davison  went  rather  freely  to  College  dinners  but 
seldom  into  general  society.  It  came  to  be  un 
derstood  that  he  disliked  meeting  women;  Mrs. 
Stewart,  however,  he  appeared  to  except  from  his 
condemnation  or  rule.  Ian  was  his  cousin,  which 
made  a  pretext  at  first  for  going  to  the  Stewarts' 
house;  but  he  went  because  he  found  the  couple 
interesting  in  their  respective  ways.  Some  Dons, 
unable  to  believe  that  a  man  without  a  University 
education  could  teach  them  anything,  would  lecture 
him  out  of  their  little  pocketful  of  knowledge  about 
Oriental  life  and  literature.  Ian,  on  the  contrary, 
was  an  admirable  producer  of  all  that  was  in 
teresting  in  others;  and  in  Davison  that  all  was 
much.  At  first  he  had  tried  to  keep  Mrs.  Stewart 
in  what  he  conceived  to  be  her  proper  place ;  but 
as  time  went  on  he  found  himself  dropping  in  at  the 


THE    INVADER 

old  house  with  surprising  frequency,  and  often 
when  he  knew  Ian  to  be  in  College  or  too  busy  to 
attend  to  him. 

He  had  brought  horses  with  him  and  offered  to 
give  Mildred  a  mount  whenever  she  liked.  Milly 
had  learned  the  rudiments  of  the  art,  but  she 
was  too  timid  to  care  for  riding.  Mildred,  on  the 
other  hand,  delighted  in  the  swift  motion  through 
the  air,  the  sensation  of  the  strong  bounding  life 
almost  incorporated  with  hei  own,  and  if  she  had 
moments  of  terror  she  had  more  of  ecstatic  daring. 
She  and  Davison  ended  by  riding  together  once  or 
twice  a  week. 

Interesting  as  Mildred  found  Maxwell  Davison 's 
companionship,  it  did  not  altogether  conduce  to 
her  happiness.  She  who  had  been  so  content  to  be 
merely  alive,  began  now  to  chafe  at  the  narrow 
limits  of  her  existence.  He  opened  the  wide 
horizons  of  the  world  before  her,  and  her  soul 
seemed  native  to  them.  One  April  afternoon  they 
rode  to  Wytham  together.  The  woods  of  Wytham 
clothe  a  long  ridge  of  hill  around  which  the  young 
Thames  sweeps  in  a  strong  curve  and  through 
them  a  grass  ride  runs  unbroken  for  a  mile  and  a 
half.  Now  side  by  side,  now  passing  and  repassing 
each  other,  they  had  "kept  the  great  pace"  along 
the  track,  the  horses  slackening  their  speed  some 
what  as  they  went  down  the  dip,  only  to  spring 
forward  with  fresh  impetus,  lifting  their  hind 
quarters  gallantly  to  the  rise;  then  given  their 
heads  for  the  last  burst  along  the  straight  bit  to 
the  drop  of  the  hill,  away  they  went  in  passionate 

138 


THE    INVADER 

competition,  foam-flecked  and  sending  the  clods 
flying  from  their  hurrying  hoofs. 

A  mile  and  a  half  of  galloping  only  serves  to 
whet  the  appetite  of  a  well-girt  horse,  and  the 
foaming  rivals  hardly  allowed  themselves  to  be 
pulled  up  at  the  edge  of  a  steep  grassy  slope,  where 
already  here  and  there  a  yellow  cowslip  bud  was 
beginning  to  break  its  pale  silken  sheath.  At 
length  their  impatient  dancing  was  over,  and  they 
stood  quiet,  resigned  to  the  will  of  the  incompre 
hensible  beings  who  controlled  them.  But  Mil 
dred's  blood  was  dancing  still  and  she  abandoned 
herself  to  the  pleasure  of  it,  undistracted  by  speech. 
Beyond  the  shining  Thames,  wide-curving  through 
its  broad  green  meadows,  and  the  gray  bridge  and 
tower  of  Eynsham,  that  great  landscape,  undulating, 
clothed  in  the  mystery  of  moving  cloud-shadows, 
gave  her  an  agreeable  impression  of  being  a  view 
into  a  strange  country,  hundreds  of  miles  away 
from  Oxford  and  the  beaten  track.  But  Maxwell's 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her. 

The  wood  about  them  was  just  breaking  into 
the  various  beauty  of  spring  foliage,  emerald  and 
gold  and  red;  a  few  trees  still  holding  up  naked 
gray  branches  among  it;  here  and  there  a  white 
cloud  of  cherry  blossom,  shining  in  a  clearing 
or  floating  mistily  amid  bursting  tree-tops  below 
them.  They  turned  to  the  right,  down  a  narrow 
ride,  mossy  and  winding,  where  perforce  they  trod 
on  flowers  as  they  went ;  for  the  path  and  the  wood 
about  it  were  carpeted  with  blue  dog-violets  and 
the  pale  soft  blossoms  of  primroses,  opening  in 


THE    INVADER 

clusters  amid  their  thick  fresh  foliage  and  the 
brown  of  last  year's  fallen  leaves.  The  sky 
above  wore  the  intense  blue  in  which  dark  clouds 
are  seen  floating,  and  as  the  gleams  of  travelling 
sunshine  passed  over  the  wooded  hill,  its  colors 
also  glowed  with  a  peculiar  intensity.  The  horses, 
no  longer  excited  by  a  vista  of  turf,  were  walk 
ing  side  by  side.  But  the  beauty  of  earth  and 
sky  were  nothing  to  Maxwell,  whose  whole  being 
was  intent  on  the  beauty  of  the  woman  in  the  saddle 
beside  him;  the  rose  and  the  gold  of  cheek  and  hair, 
the  lithe  grace  of  the  body,  lightly  moving  to  the 
motion  of  her  horse. 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  bright  smile. 

"How  perfectly  delightful  riding  is!  I  owe  all 
the  pleasure  of  it  to  you." 

"Do  you?"  he  asked,  smiling  too,  but  slightly 
and  gravely,  narrowing  on  her  his  inscrutable  eyes. 
"Well,  then,  will  you  do  what  I  want?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  fatalist  and  never  wanted 
anything.  But  if  you  condescend  to  want  me  to 
do  something,  your  slave  obeys.  You  see  I'm 
learning  the  proper  way  for  a  woman  to  talk." 

"I  want  you  to  remove  the  preposterous  black 
pot  with  which  you've  covered  up  your  hair.  I'll 
carry  it  for  you." 

"Oh,  Max!  What  would  people  think  if  they 
met  me  riding  without  my  hat?  Fancy  Miss 
Cay  ley!  What  she'd  say!  And  the  Warden  of 
Canterbury!  What  he'd  feel!" 

She  laughed  delightedly. 

"They  never  ride  this  way.  It's  the  'primrose 
140 


THE    INVADER 

path,'  you  see,  and  they're  afraid  of  the  'everlasting 
bonfire.'  I'm  not;  you're  not.  You're  not  afraid 
of  anything." 

"I  am.  I'm  afraid  of  old  maids  and  —  most 
butlers." 

Maxwell  laughed,  but  his  laugh  was  a  harsh  one. 

"  Humbug!  If  you  really  wanted  to  do  anything 
you'd  do  it.  I  know  you  better  than  you  know 
yourself.  If  you  won't  take  your  hat  off  it's  be 
cause  you  don't  really  want  to  do  what  I  want; 
and  when  you  say  pretty  things  to  me  about  your 
gratitude  for  the  pleasure  I'm  giving  you,  you're 
only  telling  the  same  old  lies  women  tell  all  the 
world  over." 

"There!  Catch  my  reins!"  cried  Mildred,  lean 
ing  over  and  holding  them  out  to  him.  "  How  do 
you  suppose  I  can  take  my  hat  off  if  you  don't?" 

He  obeyed  and  drew  up  to  her,  stooping  near,  a 
hand  on  the  mane  of  her  horse.  The  horses  nosed 
together  and  fidgeted,  while  she  balanced  herself 
in  the  saddle  with  lifted  arms,  busy  with  hat-pins. 
The  task  accomplished,  she  handed  the  hat  to  him 
and  they  cantered  on.  Presently  she  turned  to 
wards  him,  brightening. 

"  You  were  quite  right  about  the  hat,  Max.  It's 
ever  so  much  nicer  without  it ;  one  feels  freer,  and 
what  I  love  about  riding  is  the  free  feeling.  It's 
as  though  one  had  got  out  of  a  cage ;  as  though  one 
could  jump  over  all  the  barriers  of  life;  as  though 
there  were  nobody  and  nothing  to  hinder  one  from 
galloping  right  out  into  the  sky  if  one  chose.  But 
I  can't  explain  what  I  mean." 

141 


THE    INVADER 

"  Of  course  you  don't  mean  the  sky,"  he  answered. 
"What  you  really  mean  is  the  desert.  There's 
space,  there's  color,  glorious,  infinite,  with  an  air 
purer  than  earthly.  Such  a  life,  Mildred!  The 
utter  freedom  of  it!  None  of  this  weary,  dreary 
slavery  you  call  civilization.  That  would  be  the 
life  for  you." 

It  was  true  that  Mildred's  was  an  essentially 
nomadic  and  adventurous  soul.  Whether  the  des 
ert  was  precisely  the  most  suitable  sphere  for  her 
wanderings  was  open  to  doubt,  but  for  the  moment 
as  typifying  freedom,  travel,  and  motion — all  that 
really  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  her — it  fascinated 
her  imagination.  Maxwell,  closely  watching  that 
sunshine  -  gilded  head,  saw  her  eyes  widen,  her 
whole  expression  at  once  excited  and  meditative, 
as  though  she  beheld  a  vision.  But  in  a  moment 
she  had  turned  to  him  with  a  challenging  smile. 

"  I  thought  slavery  was  the  only  proper  thing  for 
women." 

"So  it  is — for  ordinary  women.  It  makes  them 
happier  and  less  mischievous.  But  I  don't  fall 
into  the  mistake — which  causes  such  a  deal  of  un 
necessary  misery  and  waste  in  the  world — the  mis 
take  of  supposing  that  you  can  ever  make  a  rule 
which  it's  good  for  every  one  to  obey.  You've  got 
to  make  your  rule  for  the  average  person.  There 
fore  it's  bound  not  to  fit  the  man  or  woman  who 
is  not  average,  and  it's  folly  to  wish  them  to  distort 
themselves  to  fit  it." 

"And  I'm  not  average?  I  needn't  be  a  slave? 
Oh,  thank  you,  Max!  I  am  so  glad." 

142 


THE    INVADER 

"Confound  it,  Mildred,  I'm  not  joking.  You 
are  a  born  queen  and  you  oughtn't  to  be  a  slave; 
but  you  are  one,  all  the  same.  You're  a  slave  to 
the  'daily  round,  the  common  task,'  which  were 
never  meant  for  such  as  you;  you're  a  slave  to  the 
conventional  idiocy  of  your  neighbors.  You  daren't 
even  take  your  hat  off  till  I  make  you ;  and  now  you 
see  how  nice  it  is  to  ride  with  your  hat  off." 

They  had  been  slowly  descending  the  steep,  stony 
road  which  leads  to  Wytham  Village,  but  as  he 
spoke  they  were  turning  off  into  a  large  field  to  the 
right,  across  which  a  turfy  track  led  gradually  up  to 
the  woods  from  which  they  had  come.  The  track 
lay  smooth  before  them,  and  the  horses  began  to 
sidle  and  dance  directly  their  hoofs  touched  it. 
Mildred  did  not  answer  his  remarks,  except  by  a 
reference  to  the  hat. 

"Don't  lose  it,  that's  all!"  she  shouted,  looking 
back  and  laughing,  as  she  shot  up  the  track  ahead 
of  him.  He  fended  she  was  trying  to  show 
him  that  she  could  run  away  from  him  if  she 
chose ;  and  with  a  quiet  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  firm 
hand  on  his  tugging  horse,  he  kept  behind  her  until 
she  was  a  good  way  up  the  field.  Then  he  gave  his 
horse  its  head  and  it  sprang  forward.  She  heard 
the  eager  thud  of  the  heavy  hoofs  drawing  up  be 
hind,  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  was  level  with  her. 
For  a  minute  they  galloped  neck  and  neck,  though 
at  a  little  distance  from  each  other.  Then  she  saw 
him  ahead,  riding  with  a  seat  looser  than  most 
Englishmen's,  yet  with  an  assurance,  a  grace  of  its 
own,  the  hind-quarters  of  his  big  horse  lifting  pow- 


THE    INVADER 

erfully  under  him,  as  it  sped  with  great  bounds  over 
the  flying  turf.  Her  own  mare  saw  it,  too,  and 
vented  her  annoyance  in  a  series  of  kicks,  which,  it 
must  be  confessed,  seriously  disturbed  Mildred's 
equilibrium.  Then  settling  to  business,  she  sprang 
after  her  companion.  Maxwell  heard  her  following 
him  up  the  long  grass  slope  towards  the  gate  which 
opens  into  the  main  ride  by  which  they  had  started. 
He  fancied  he  had  the  improvised  race  well  in  hand, 
but  suddenly  the  hoofs  behind  him  hurried  their 
beat ;  Mildred  flew  past  him  at  top  speed  and  flung 
her  mare  back  on  its  haunches  at  the  gate. 

"I've  won!  Hurrah!  I've  won!"  she  shouted, 
breathlessly,  and  waved  her  whip  at  him. 

Maxwell  was  swearing  beneath  his  breath,  in  a 
spasm  of  anger  and  anxiety. 

"Don't  play  the  fool!"  he  cried,  savagely,  as  he 
drew  rein  close  to  her.  "You  might  have  thrown 
the  mare  down  or  mixed  her  in  with  the  gate,  pulling 
her  up  short  like  that.  It's  a  wonder  you  didn't 
come  off  yourself,  for  though  you're  a  devil  to  go, 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  you're  a  poor  horse 
woman." 

He  was  violently  angry,  partly  at  Mildred's 
ignorant  rashness,  partly  because,  after  all,  she  had 
beaten  him.  She,  taking  her  hat  from  his  hand  and 
fastening  it  on  again,  uttered  apologies,  but  from 
the  lips  only ;  for  she  had  never  seen  a  man  furious 
before,  and  she  was  keenly  interested  in  the  specta 
cle.  Maxwell's  eyes  were  not  inscrutable  now;  they 
glittered  with  manifest  rage.  His  harsh  voice  was 
still  harsher,  his  hard  jaw  clinched,  the  muscles  of 

144 


THE    INVADER 

his  lean  face,  which  was  as  pale  as  its  brownness 
allowed  it  to  be,  stood  out  like  cords,  and  the  hand 
that  grasped  her  reins  shook.  Mildred  felt  some 
what  as  she  imagined  a  lion-tamer  might  feel;  just 
the  least  bit  alarmed,  but  mistress  of  the  brute, 
on  the  whole,  and  enjoying  the  contact  with  any 
thing  so  natural  and  fierce  and  primitive.  The 
feeling  had  not  had  time  to  pall  on  her,  when  going 
through  the  gate,  they  were  joined  by  two  other 
members  of  the  little  clan  of  Wytham  riders,  and 
all  rode  back  to  Oxford  together,  through  flying 
scuds  of  rain. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THERE  is  a  proverbial  rule  against  playing  with 
fire,  but  it  is  one  which,  as  Davison  would  have 
said,  was  evidently  made  by  average  people,  who 
would  in  fact  rather  play  with  something  else. 
There  are  others  to  whom  fire  is  the  only  really 
amusing  plaything ;  and  though  the  by-stander  may 
hold  his  breath,  nine  times  out  of  ten  they  will  come 
out  of  the  game  as  unscathed  as  the  professional 
fire-eater.  This  was  not  precisely  true  of  Mildred, 
who  had  still  a  wide  taste  in  playthings ;  but  in  the 
absence  of  anything  new  and  exciting  in  her  en 
vironment,  she  found  an  immense  fascination  in 
playing  with  the  fiery  elements  in  Maxwell  Davi 
son 's  nature,  in  amusing  her  imagination  with 
visions  of  a  free  wandering  life,  led  under  a  burn 
ing  Oriental  sky,  which  he  constantly  suggest 
ed  to  her.  Yet  dangerously  alluring  as  these 
visions  might  appear,  appealing  to  all  the  hidden 
nomad  heart  of  her,  her  good  sense  was  never  really 
silenced.  It  told  her  that  freedom  from  the  shackles 
of  civilization  might  become  wearisome  in  time, 
besides  involving  heavier,  more  intolerable  forms 
of  bondage;  although  she  did  not  perceive  that 
Maxwell  Davison's  dislike  to  her  being  a  slave 
was  only  a  dislike  to  her  being  somebody  else's 

146 


THE    INVADER 

slave.  He  was  a  despot  at  heart  and  had  accus 
tomed  himself  to  a  frank  despotism  over  women. 
Mildred's  power  over  him,  the  uncertainty  of  his 
power  over  her,  maddened  him.  But  Mildred  did 
not  know  what  love  meant.  At  one  time  she  had 
fancied  her  affection  for  Ian  might  be  love;  now 
she  wondered  whether  her  strange  interest  in  the 
society  of  a  man  for  whom  she  had  no  affection, 
could  be  that.  She  did  not  feel  towards  Ian  as  an 
ordinary  wife  might  have  done,  yet  his  feelings  and 
interests  weighed  much  with  her.  Milly,  too,  she 
must  necessarily  consider,  but  she  did  that  in  a 
different,  an  almost  vengeful  spirit. 

One  evening  Ian,  looking  up  from  his  work, 
asked  her  what  she  was  smiling  at  so  quietly  to  her 
self.  And  she  could  not  tell  him,  because  it  was 
at  a  horrible  practical  joke  suggested  to  her  by  an 
impish  spirit  within.  What  if  she  should  prepare 
a  little  surprise  for  the  returning  Milly?  Let  her 
find  herself  planted  in  Araby  the  Blest  with  Max 
well  Davison?  Mildred  chuckled,  wondering  to 
herself  which  would  be  in  the  biggest  rage,  Milly  or 
Max;  for  however  Tims  might  affirm  the  contrary, 
Mildred  had  a  fixed  impression  that  Milly  could  be 
in  a  rage. 

The  fire-game  was  hastening  to  its  close ;  but  be 
fore  Mildred  could  prove  herself  a  real  mistress  of 
the  dangerous  element,  the  sleep  fell  upon  her. 

Except  a  sensation  of  fatigue,  for  which  it  was 
easy  to  find  a  reason,  there  was  no  warning  of  the 
coming  change.  But  Ian  had  dreams  in  the  night 
and  opened  his  eyes  in  the  morning  with  a  feeling 


THE    INVADER 

of  uneasiness  and  depression.  Mildred  could  never 
sleep  late  without  causing  him  anxiety,  and  on  this 
morning  his  first  glance  at  her  filled  him  with  a 
dread  certainty.  She  was  sleeping  what  was  to 
her  in  a  measure  the  sleep  of  death.  He  had  a 
violent  impulse  to  awaken  her  forcibly;  but  he 
feared  it  would  be  dangerous.  With  his  arm  around 
her  and  his  head  close  to  hers  on  the  pillow,  he 
whispered  her  name  over  and  over  again.  The 
calmness  of  her  face  gradually  gave  way  to  an  ex 
pression  of  struggle  approaching  convulsion,  and 
he  dared  not  continue.  He  could,  only  await  the 
inevitable  in  a  misery  which  from  its  very  nature 
could  find  no  expression  and  no  comforter. 

Milly,  unlike  Mildred,  did  not  return  to  the  world 
in  a  rapture  of  satisfaction  with  it.  The  realization 
of  the  terrible  robbery  of  life  of  which  she  had 
again  been  the  victim,  was  in  itself  enough  to  ac 
count  for  a  certain  sadness  even  in  her  love  for  Ian 
and  for  her  child.  The  hygiene  of  the  nursery  had 
been  neglected  according  to  her  ideas,  yet  Baby  was 
bonny  enough  to  delight  any  mother's  heart,  how 
ever  heavy  it  might  be.  Ian,  she  said,  wanted 
feeding  up  and  taking  care  of;  and  he  submitted 
to  the  process  with  a  gentle,  melancholy  smile.  Just 
one  request  he  made;  that  she  would  not  spoil  her 
pretty  hair  by  screwing  it  up  in  her  usual  unbe 
coming  manner.  She  understood,  studying  a  cer 
tain  photograph  in  a  drawer — what  drawer  was 
safe  from  Milly's  tidyings? — and  dressed  her  hair 
as  like  it  as  she  knew  how,  with  a  secret  bitterness 
of  heart. 

148 


THE    INVADER 

Mildred  had  found  a  diary,  methodically  kept  by 
Milly,  of  great  use  to  her,  and  although  incapable 
herself  of  keeping  one  regularly,  she  had  continued 
it  in  a  desultory  manner,  noting  down  whatever 
she  thought  might  be  useful  for  Milly 's  guidance. 
For  whatever  the  feelings  of  the  two  personalities 
towards  each  other,  there  was  a  terrible  closeness 
of  union  between  them.  There  indivisibility  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  made  their  external  interests  in 
evitably  one.  New  friends  and  acquaintances  Mil 
dred  had  noted  down,  with  useful  remarks  upon 
them.  She  was  not  confidential  on  the  subject  of 
Maxwell  Davison,  but  she  gave  the  bare  necessary 
information. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  Summer  Term  and  her  bed 
room  chimney-piece  was  richly  decorated  with  in 
vitation  cards.  Among  others  there  was  an  in 
vitation  to  a  garden-party  at  Lady  Margaret  Hall. 
Milly  put  on  a  fresh  flowered  muslin  dress,  ap 
parently  unworn,  that  she  found  hanging  in  one  of 
the  deep  wall-cupboards  of  the  old  house,  and  a 
coarse  burnt -straw  hat,  trimmed  with  roses  and 
black  ribbon,  which  became  her  marvellously  well. 
All  the  scruples  of  an  apostle  of  hygienic  dress,  all 
the  uneasiness  of  an  economist  at  the  prospect  of 
unpaid  bills,  disappeared  before  the  pleasure  of  a 
young  woman  face  to  face  with  an  extremely 
pretty  reflection  in  a  pier-glass.  That  glass,  an 
oval  in  a  light  mahogany  frame,  of  the  Regency 
period,  if  not  earlier,  was  one  of  Mildred's  finds  in 
the  slums  of  St.  Ebbes. 

She  walked  across  the  Parks,  where  the  Cricket 
149 


THE    INVADER 

Match  of  the  season  was  drawing  a  crowd,  meaning 
to  come  out  by  a  gate  below  Lady  Margaret  Hall, 
the  gardens  and  buildings  of  which  did  not  then  ex 
tend  to  the  Cherwell.  In  their  place  were  a  few 
tennis-grounds  and  a  path  leading  to  a  boat-house, 
shared  by  a  score  or  more  of  persons.  While  she 
was  still  coming  across  the  grass  of  the  Parks,  a  man 
in  flannels,  very  white  in  the  sun,  came  towards  her 
from  the  gate  for  which  she  was  making.  He  must 
have  recognized  her  from  a  long  way  off.  He  was 
a  striking-looking  man  of  middle  age,  walking  with 
a  free  yet  indolent  stride  that  carried  him  along 
much  faster  than  it  appeared  to  do. 

Milly  had  no  idea  who  the  stranger  was,  but  he 
greeted  her  with:  "Here  you  are  at  last,  Mildred! 
Do  you  know  how  much  behind  time  you  are?" — 
he  took  out  his  watch — "  Exactly  thirty-five  min 
utes.  I  should  have  given  you  up  if  I  hadn't  known 
that  breaking  your  promise  is  not  among  your  nu 
merous  vices,  and  unpunctuality  is." 

Who  on  earth  was  he  ?  And  why  did  he  call  her 
by  her  Christian  name?  Milly  went  a  beautiful 
pink  with  embarrassment. 

"I'm  so  sorry.  I  thought  the  party  would  have 
just  begun,"  she  replied. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  to  keep  me 
kicking  my  heels  while  you  go  to  a  confounded 
party?  I  thought  you  knew  I  was  off  to  Paris 
to-night,  after  that  Firdusi  manuscript,  and  I 
think  of  taking  the  Continental  Express  to  Con 
stantinople  next  week.  I  don't  know  when  I  shall 
be  back.  Surely,  Mildred,  it's  not  a  great  deal  to 

150 


THE    INVADER 

ask  you  to  spare  half  an  hour  from  a  wretched  party 
to  come  on  the  river  with  me  before  I  go?"  It 
struck  Maxwell  as  he  ended  that  he  was  falling  into 
the  whining  of  the  Occidental  lover.  He  was  de 
termined  that  he  would  clear  the  situation  this  af 
ternoon  ;  the  more  determined  because  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  feeling  odiously  resembling  fear  which 
had  before  now  held  him  back  from  plain  dealing 
with  Mildred.  Afraid  of  a  woman?  It  was  too 
ridiculous. 

Milly,  meanwhile,  felt  herself  on  firmer  ground. 
This  must  be  lan's  cousin,  Maxwell  Davison,  the 
Orientalist.  But  there  was  nothing  nomadic  in 
her  heart  to  thrill  to  the  idea  of  being  on  the  Cher- 
well  this  afternoon,  in  London  this  evening,  in 
Paris  next  morning,  in  Constantinople  next  week. 

"Of  course  I'll  come  on  the  river  with  you,"  she 
said.  "I'm  sorry  I'm  late.  I'm  afraid  I  —  I'd 
forgotten." 

Forgotten !  How  simply  she  said  it!  Yet  it  was 
surely  the  veriest  impudence  of  coquetry.  He 
looked  at  her  slowly  from  the  hat  downward,  as 
he  lounged  leisurely  at  her  side. 

"War -paint,  I  see!"  he  remarked.  "Armed 
from  head  to  heel  with  all  the  true  and  tried  female 
weapons.  They're  just  the  same  all  the  world  over 
— 'plus  ca  change,  plus  c'est  la  m£me  chose,' — 
though  no  doubt  you  fancy  they're  different. 
Who's  the  frock  put  on  for,  Mildred?  For  the 
party,  or — for  me?" 

Milly  was  conscious  of  such  an  extreme  absence 
of  intention  so  far  as  Maxwell  was  concerned,  that 

W. 


THE    INVADER 

it  would  have  been  rude  to  express  it.  She  went 
very  pink  again,  and  lifting  forget-me-not  blue 
eyes  to  his  inscrutable  ones,  articulated  slowly: 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

Her  eyes  were  like  a  child's  and  a  shy  smile 
curved  her  pink  lips  adorably  as  she  spoke.  Such 
mere  simplicity  would  not  in  itself  have  cast  a  spell 
over  Maxwell,  but  it  came  to  him  as  a  new,  surpris 
ing  phase  of  the  eternal  feminine  in  her;  and  it 
had  the  additional  charm  that  it  caused  that  sub 
jugated  feeling  resembling  fear,  with  which  Mildred 
could  inspire  him,  to  disappear  entirely.  He  was 
once  more  in  the  proper  dominant  attitude  of  Man. 
He  felt  the  courage  now  to  make  her  do  what  he 
believed  she  wished  to  do  in  her  heart ;  the  courage, 
too,  to  punish  her  for  the  humiliation  she  had 
inflicted  upon  him.  Six  months  ago  he  would 
have  had  nothing  but  a  hearty  contempt  for  the 
man  who  could  beat  thirty  yards  of  gravel-path 
for  half  an  hour,  watch  in  hand,  in  a  misery  of 
impatience,  waiting  on  the  good  pleasure  of  a 
capricious  woman. 

Meantime  he  laughed  good-humoredly  at  Milly's 
answer  and  began  to  talk  of  neutral  matters.  If 
her  tongue  did  not  move  as  nimbly  as  usual,  he 
flattered  himself  it  was  because  she  knew  that  the 
hour  of  her  surrender  was  at  hand. 

Milly  knew  the  boat-house  well,  the  pleasant 
dimness  of  it  on  hot  summer  days;  how  the  var 
nished  boats  lay  side  by  side  all  down  its  length, 
and  how  the  light  canoes  rested  against  the  walls 
as  it  were  on  shelves.  How,  when  the  big  doors 


THE    INVADER 

were*  opened  on  to  the  raft  and  the  slowly  moving 
river  without,  bright  circles  of  sunlight,  reflected 
from  the  running  water,  would  fly  in  and  dance  on 
wall  and  roof.  She  stood  there  in  the  dimness, 
while  Maxwell  lifted  down  a  large  canoe  and,  open 
ing  one  of  the  barred  doors,  took  it  out  to  the 
water.  Mildred  would  have  felt  a  half -conscious 
aesthetic  pleasure  in  watching  his  movements, 
superficially  indolent  but  instinct  with  strength. 
Milly  had  not  the  same  aesthetic  sensibilities,  and 
she  was  still  disagreeably  embarrassed  at  finding 
herself  on  such  a  familiar  footing  with  a  man  whom 
she  had  never  seen  before.  Then,  although  she 
followed  Aunt  Beatrice's  golden  rule  of  never  allow 
ing  a  question  of  feminine  dress  to  interfere  with 
masculine  plans,  she  could  not  but  feel  anxious  as 
to  the  fate  of  her  fresh  muslin  and  ribbons  packed 
into  a  canoe.  Maxwell,  however,  had  learned 
canoeing  years  ago  on  the  Canadian  lakes,  and  did 
not  splash.  His  lean,  muscular  brown  arms  and 
supple  wrists  took  the  canoe  rapidly  through  the 
water,  with  little  apparent  effort. 

It  was  the  prime  of  June  and  the  winding  willow- 
shaded  Cherwell  was  in  its  beauty.  White  water- 
lilies  were  only  just  beginning  to  open  silver  buds, 
floating  serenely  on  their  broad  green  and  red 
pads;  but  prodigal  masses  of  wild  roses,  delicately 
rich  in  scent  and  various  in  color,  overhung  the 
river  in  brave  arching  bowers  or  starred  bushes  and 
hedgerows  so  closely  that  the  green  briers  were 
hardly  visible.  Beds  of  the  large  blue  water 
forget-me-not  floated  beside  the  banks,  and  above 

J53 


THE    INVADER 

them  creamy  meadow-sweet  lifted  its  tall  plumes 
among  the  reeds  and  grasses.  Small  water-rats 
swam  busily  from  bank  to  bank  or  played  on  the 
roots  of  the  willows,  and  bright  wings  of  birds  and 
insects  fluttered  and  skimmed  over  the  shining 
stream. 

The  Cherwell,  though  not  then  the  crowded  water 
way  it  has  since  become,  was  usually  popular  with 
boaters  on  such  an  afternoon.  But  there  must  have 
been  strong  counter-attractions  elsewhere,  for  Milly 
and  Davison  passed  only  one,  a  party  of  chil 
dren  working  very  independent  oars,  on  their 
way  to  the  little  gray  house  above  the  ferry, 
where  an  old  Frenchman  dispensed  tea  in 
arbors. 

There  was  a  kind  of  hypnotic  charm  in  the  glid 
ing  motion  of  the  canoe  and  the  water  running  by. 
Milly  was  further  dazed  by  Maxwell's  talk.  It  was 
full  of  mysterious  references  and  couched  in  the 
masterful  tone  of  a  person  who  had  rights  over  her 
— a  tone  which  before  he  had  been  more  willing 
than  able  to  adopt ;  but  now  the  bit  was  between  his 
teeth.  Perhaps  absorbed  in  his  own  intent,  he 
hardly  noticed  how  little  she  answered ;  but  he  did 
notice  every  point  of  her  beauty  as  she  leaned  back 
on  the  cushions  in  the  light  shade  of  her  parasol, 
from  the  soft  brightness  of  her  hair  to  the  glimpse 
of  delicate  white  skin  which  showed  through  the 
open-work  stocking  on  her  slender  foot. 

When  they  were  in  the  straight  watery  avenue 
between  green  willow  walls,  which  leads  up  to  the 
ferry,  he  slackened  the  pace. 


THE    INVADER 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  next  week?"  he 
asked,  as  one  of  a  series  of  ironical  questions. 

"A  great  deal;  much  more  than  I  care  to  do. 
I'm  going  up  to  town  to  see  the  new  Savoy  opera, 
and  I'm  going  to  a  dance,  and  to  several  garden- 
parties,  and  to  dine  with  the  Master  of  Durham." 

"Quite  enough  for  some  people;  but  not  for  you, 
Mildred.  Think  of  it — year  after  year,  always  the 
same  old  run.  October  Term,  Lent  Term,  Summer 
Term!  A  little  change  in  Vacations,  say  a  month 
abroad,  when  you  can  afford  it.  You  aren't  meant 
for  it,  you  know  you're  not,  any  more  than  a 
swallow's  meant  for  the  little  hopping,  pecketing 
life  of  a  London  sparrow." 

"Indeed,  I  don't  see  the  likeness  either  way. 
I'm  quite  happy  as  I  am." 

He  smiled  mockingly. 

"Quite  happy!  As  it's  very  proper  you  should 
be,  of  course.  Come,  Mildred,  no  humbug!  Think 
how  you'd  feel  if  you  knew  that  instead  of  going  to 
all  those  idiotic  parties  next  week  you  were  going 
to  Constantinople." 

"Isn't  it  dreadfully  hot  at  this  time  of  year?" 

"  I  like  it  hot.  But  at  any  rate  one  can  always 
find  some  cool  place  in  the  hottest  weather.  How 
would  you  like  to  go  in  a  caravan  from  Cairo  to 
Damascus  next  autumn?" 

"  I  dare  say  it  would  be  delightful,  if  the  country 
one  passed  through  were  not  too  wild  and  dan 
gerous.  But  Ian  would  never  be  able  to  leave  his 
work  for  an  expedition  like  that." 

Maxwell  smiled  grimly. 


THE    INVADER 

"  I'd  no  idea  you'd  want  him.  I  shouldn't.  Do 
be  serious.  If  you  fancy  I'm  the  sort  of  man  you. 
can  go  on  playing  with  forever,  you're  most  con 
foundedly  mistaken. ' ' 

Milly  was  both  offended  and  alarmed.  Was  this 
strange  man  mad  ?  And  she  alone  with  him  on  the 
river! 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  coldly. 

"Don't  you?"  he  returned,  and  he  still  wore  his 
ironic  smile — "  Well,  I  know  what  you  mean  all  the 
time.  You  say  I  only  know  Oriental  women,  but, 
by  Allah,  there's  not  a  pin  to  choose  between  the  lot 
of  you,  except  that  there's  less  humbug  about  them, 
and  over  here  you're  a  set  of  trained,  accomplished 
hypocrites!" 

Indignation  overcame  fear  in  Milly 's  bosom. 

"We  are  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said.  "How 
can  you  talk  such  nonsense?" 

"  Nonsense  ?  I  suppose  being  a  woman  you  can't 
really  be  logical,  although  you  generally  pretend  to 
be  so.  Why  have  you  pranked  yourself  out,  spent 
an  hour  I  dare  say  in  making  yourself  pretty  to-day  ? 
For  what  possible  reason  except  to  attract  the  eyes 
of  a  crowd  of  men,  young  fools  or  doddering  old 
ones — " 

Milly  uttered  an  expression  of  vehement  denial, 
but  he  continued: 

"Or  else  to  whet  my  appetite  for  forbidden 
fruit.  But  there's  no  'or'  about  it,  is  there?  Most 
likely  you  had  both  of  those  desirable  objects  in 
view." 

Milly  was  not  a  coward  when  her  indignation  was 
156 


THE    INVADER 

aroused.  She  took  hold  of  the  sides  of  the  canoe 
and  began  raising  herself. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  mean  to  be  insulting," 
she  said;  " but  I  don't  wish  to  hear  any  more  of  this 
sort  of  thing.  I'd  rather  you  put  me  out,  please." 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  with  authority — the  canoe 
was  rocking  violently — "unless  you're  anxious  to 
be  drowned.  I  warn  you  I'm  a  very  poor  swimmer, 
and  if  we  upset  there's  not  a  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
my  being  able  to  save  you." 

Milly  was  a  poor  swimmer,  too,  and  felt  by  no 
means  competent  to  save  herself;  neither  was  she 
anxious  to  be  drowned.  So  she  sat  down  again. 

"Put  me  out  at  the  ferry,  please,"  she  repeated, 
haughtily. 

They  were  reaching  the  end  of  the  willow  avenue, 
just  where  the  wire  rope  crosses  the  river.  On  the 
right  was  a  small  wooden  landing-stage,  and  high 
above  it  the  green,  steep  river-bank,  with  the  gray 
house  and  the  arbors  on  the  top.  The  old  French 
man  stood  before  the  house  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
watching  sadly  for  his  accustomed  prey,  which  for 
some  inexplicable  reason  did  not  come.  He  took 
off  his  cap  expectantly  to  Maxwell  Davison,  whom 
he  knew;  but  the  canoe  glided  swiftly  under  the 
rope  and  on. 

"No,  I  sha'n't  put  you  out,  Mildred,"  Maxwell 
answered  with  decision,  after  a  pause.  "  I'm  sorry 
if  I've  offended  you.  I've  forgotten  my  manners, 
no  doubt,  and  must  seem  a  bit  of  a  brute  to  you. 
I  didn't  bring  you  here  just  to  quarrel,  or  to 
play  a  practical  joke  upon  you,  and  send  you  on 


THE    INVADER 

a  field-walk  in  that  smart  frock  and  shoes — "  he 
smiled  at  her,  and  this  time  she  was  obliged  to  feel 
a  certain  fascination  in  his  smile — "  nor  yet  to  go 
on  with  the  game  you've  been  playing  with  me 
all  these  months.  You  forget;  I've  been  used  to 
Nature  for  so  many  years  that  I  find  it  hard  to 
realize  how  natural  the  most  artificial  conditions 
of  life  appear  to  you.  I'll  try  to  remember;  but 
you  must  remember,  too,  that  the  most  civilized 
beings  on  earth  have  got  to  come  right  up  against 
the  hard  facts  of  Nature  sometimes.  They've 
got  to  be  stripped  of  their  top  layer  and  see  it 
stripped  off  other  people,  and  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  every  one  has  got  a  core  of  Primitive  Man  or 
of  Primitive  Woman  in  them;  a  perfectly  unalter 
able,  indestructible  core.  And  the  people  who  re 
fuse  to  recognize  that  aren't  elevated  and  refined, 
but  simply  stupid  and  obstinate  and  no  good." 

Milly,  if  she  would  have  no  compromise  with 
principles,  was  always  quick  to  accept  an  apology. 
She  did  not  follow  the  line  of  Maxwell's  argument, 
but  she  remembered  it  was  noted  in  a  certain  de 
plorably  irregular  Diary,  that  he  had  lived  for 
many  years  in  the  East  and  was  quite  Orientalized 
in  many  of  his  ways  and  ideas.  With  gentle 
dignity  she  signified  that  in  her  opinion  civilized 
European  manners  and  views  were  to  be  com 
mended  in  opposition  to  barbarous  and  Oriental 
ones.  Maxwell,  his  face  bent  towards  the  turning 
paddle,  hardly  heard  what  she  was  saying.  He  was 
paddling  fast  and  considering  many  things. 

They  came  to  where  the  river  ran  under  a  narrow 
158 


THE    INVADER 

grass  field,  rising  in  a  steep  bank  and  shut  off  from 
the  world  by  a  tall  hedge  and  a  row  of  elms,  that 
threw  long  shadows  down  the  grass  and  were 
reflected  in  the  water.  A  path  led  through  it, 
but  it  was  little  frequented.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  wide,  green  meadow,  where  the  long  grass  was 
ripening  under  rose-blossoming  hedges,  and  far  be 
yond  was  the  blueness  of  distant  hills  and  woods. 
Maxwell  ran  the  bow  of  the  canoe  into  a  thick  bed 
of  forget-me-nots,  growing  not  far  from  the  bank. 
He  laid  the  dripping  paddle  aside,  and,  resting  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  held  his  head  in  his  hands  for  a 
minute  or  more.  When  he  turned  his  face  towards 
her  it  was  charged  with  passion,  but  most  of  all 
with  a  grave  masterfulness.  He  had  been  sitting 
on  a  low  seat,  but  now  he  kneeled  so  as  to  come 
nearer  to  her,  and,  stretching  out  his  long  arms,  laid 
a  hand,  brown,  long-fingered,  smooth,  on  her  two 
slight,  gray-gloved  ones. 

"Mildred,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  seemed  to 
have  lost  its  harshness,  "I've  brought  you  here  to 
make  you  decide  what  you  are  going  to  do  with 
me  and  with  yourself.  I  want  you — you  know  I 
want  you,  but  I  don't  come  begging  for  you  as  an 
alms.  I  say,  just  compare  the  life,  the  free,  glorious 
life  I  can  give  you,  and  the  wretched,  petty  round 
of  existence  here.  Come  with  me,  won't  you? 
Don't  be  afraid  I  shall  treat  you  like  a  slave;  I 
follow  Nature,  and  Nature  made  you  a  queen. 
Come  with  me  to-night,  come  to  Paris,  to  Con 
stantinople,  to  all  the  East!  Never  mind  about 
love  yet,  we  won't  talk  about  that,  for  I  don't 


THE    INVADER 

really  flatter  myself  you  love  me ;  I'm  only  sure  you 
don't  love  Ian — " 

Milly  had  listened  to  him  so  far,  drawing  her 
self  back  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  canoe,  half 
petrified  with  amazement,  half  dominated  by  his 
powerful  personality.  At  these  words  her  pallor 
gave  way  to  a  scarlet  flush. 

"  How  dare  you!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  tremulous 
with  indignation.  "  How  dare  you  talk  to  me  like 
this?  How  dare  you  name  my  husband?  You 
brought  me  out  here  on  purpose  to  say  such 
things  to  me?  Oh,  it's  abominable,  it's  disgrace 
ful!" 

There  was  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  the  sincerity  of 
her  indignation.  Maxwell  drew  back  and  his  face 
changed.  There  were  patches  of  dull  red  on  his 
cheeks,  almost  as  though  he  had  been  struck,  and 
his  narrow  eyes  glittered.  Looking  at  him,  Milly 
felt  physical  fear;  she  thought  once  more  of  in 
sanity.  There  was  a  silence  ;  then  she  spoke 
again. 

"Put  me  on  to  the  bank  here,  please.  I'll  walk 
back." 

"I  shall  let  you  go  when  I  choose,"  returned  he, 
in  a  grating  voice.  "I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  first." 

He  paused  and  his  frown  darkened  upon  her. 
"You  asked  me  how  I  'dared.'  Dare!  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  dog,  to  be  chained  up  and  tantalized 
with  nice  bits,  and  hardly  allowed  to  whine  for 
them?  I  say,  how  dare  you  entice  me  with  your 
beauty — it's  decked  out  now  for  me — entice  me 

160 


THE    INVADER 

with  all  your  beguiling  ways,  your  pretence  of  long 
ing  to  go  away  and  to  live  the  free  life  in  the  East 
as  I  live  it  ?  Now,  when  you've  made  me  want  you 
— what  else  have  you  been  aiming  at  ?  You  pre 
tend  to  be  surprised,  you  pretend  even  to  yourself, 
to  be  dreadfully  shocked.  What  damned  humbug! 
With  us  only  the  dancing  -  girls  venture  to  play 
such  tricks  as  you  do,  and  they  daren't  go  too  far, 
because  the  men  are  men  and  wear  knives.  But 
here  you  proper  women,  with  your  weakness  un 
naturally  protected,  you  go  about  pretending  you 
don't  know  there's  such  a  thing  in  the  world  as 
desire  —  oh,  of  course  not!  —  and  all  the  while 
you're  deliberately  exciting  it  and  playing  upon 
it." 

Mildred  had  been  right  in  saying  that  the  gentle 
Milly  could  be  in  a  rage ;  though  it  was  a  thing  that 
had  happened  to  her  only  once  or  twice  before  since 
her  childhood.  It  happened  now.  Anger,  burn 
ing  anger,  extinguished  the  fear  that  had  held  her 
silent  while  he  was  speaking. 

"It's  false!"  she  cried,  with  burning  face  and 
blazing  eyes.  "It's  disgraceful  of  you  to  say  such 
things — it's  degrading  for  me  to  have  to  hear  them. 
I  will  get  away  from  you,  if  I  have  to  jump  into  the 
river." 

She  started  forward,  but  Maxwell,  with  his  tall, 
lithe  body  and  long  arms,  had  a  great  reach.  He 
leaned  forward  and  his  iron  hands  were  upon  her 
shoulders,  forcing  her  back. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  he  said,  still  fierce  in  eye  and 
voice. 

it  161 


THE    INVADER 

Her  lips  trembled  with  fury  so  that  she  could 
hardly  speak. 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  a  gentleman?" 

He  laughed  scornfully. 

"I  don't  consider  the  question  at  all.  I  am  a 
man ;  you  are  a  woman,  and  you  have  presumed  to 
make  a  plaything  of  me.  You  thought  you  could 
do  it  with  impunity  because  we  are  civilized,  be 
cause  you  are  a  lady ;  for  bar-maids  and  servant-girls 
do  get  their  throats  cut  sometimes  still.  Don't  be 
frightened,  I'm  not  going  to  kill  you,  but  I  mean 
to  make  you  understand  for  once  that  these 
privileges  of  weakness  are  humbug,  that  they're 
not  in  nature.  I  mean  to  teach  you  that  a  man  is 
a  better  animal — 

He  suddenly  withdrew  his  hands  from  her  with 
a  sharp  exclamation.  Milly's  teeth  were  pearly 
white  and  rather  small,  but  they  were  pointed,  and 
they  had  met  in  the  flesh  of  the  right  hand  which 
rested  so  firmly  on  her  shoulder.  He  fell  back  and 
put  his  hand  to  his  mouth.  A  boat-hook  lay  within 
her  reach,  and  her  end  of  the  canoe  had  drifted  near 
enough  to  the  river-bank  for  her  to  be  able  to  catch 
hold  with  the  hook  and  to  pull  it  farther  in.  Braced 
to  the  uttermost  by  rage  and  fear,  she  bounded  to 
her  feet  without  upsetting  the  canoe.  It  lurched 
violently,  but  righted  itself,  swinging  out  once  more 
into  the  stream.  Maxwell  looked  up  and  saw  her 
standing  on  the  river-bank  above  him.  She  did  not 
stay  to  parley,  but  with  lifted  skirt  hurried  up  the 
steep  meadow,  through  the  sun-flecked  shadows  of 
the  elm-trees,  towards  the  path.  When  she  was  half- 

162 


THE    INVADER 

way  up  a  harsh,  sardonic  laugh  sounded  behind  her, 
and  instinctively  she  looked  back.  Maxwell  held 
up  his  wounded  hand: 

"Primitive  woman  at  last,  Mildred!"  he  shouted. 
"Don't  apologize,  I  sha'n't." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IAN  only  came  home  just  in  time  to  scramble 
into  his  evening  dress -suit  for  a  dinner  at  the 
Fletchers'.  He  needed  not  to  fear  delay  either  from 
that  shirt-button  at  the  back,  refractory  or  on  the 
last  thread,  or  from  any  other  and  more  insidious 
trap  for  the  hurrying  male.  Milly  looked  after  him 
in  a  way  which,  if  the  makers  of  traditions  concern 
ing  wives  were  not  up  to  their  necks  in  falsehood, 
must  have  inspired  devotion  in  the  heart  of  any 
husband  alive.  She  had  already  observed  that  he 
had  been  allowed  to  lose  most  of  the  pocket-hand 
kerchiefs  she  had  marked  for  him  in  linen  thread. 
That  trifles  such  as  this  should  cause  bitterness  will 
seem  as  absurd  to  sensible  persons  as  it  would 
to  be  told  that  our  lives  are  made  up  of  mere  to 
morrows — if  Shakespeare  had  not  happened  to  put 
that  in  his  own  memorable  way.  For  it  takes  a 
vast  deal  of  imagination  to  embrace  the  ordinary 
facts  of  life  and  human  nature.  But  even  the  most 
sensible  will  understand  that  it  was  annoying  for 
Milly  regularly  to  find  her  own  and  the  family 
purse  reduced  to  a  state  that  demanded  rigid 
economy.  The  Invader,  stirring  in  that  limbo 
where  she  lay,  might  have  answered  that  rigid 
economy  was  Milly 's  forte  and  real  delight,  and 

164 


THE   INVADER 

that  it  was  well  she  should  have  nothing  to  spend 
in  ridiculously  disguising  the  fair  body  they  were 
condemned  to  share.  Mildred  certainly  left  behind 
her  social  advantages  which  both  Ian  and  Milly 
enjoyed  without  exactly  realizing  their  source, 
while  her  bric-a-brac  purchases,  from  an  eighteenth- 
century  print  to  a  Chinese  ivory,  were  always  sure 
to  be  rising  investments.  But  all  such  minor 
miseries  as  her  invasion  might  multiply  for  Milly, 
were  forgotten  in  the  horror  of  the  abyss  that 
had  now  opened  under  her  feet.  For  long  after 
that  second  return  of  hers,  on  the  night  of  the 
thunder-storm,  a  shadow,  a  dreadful  haunting 
thought,  had  hovered  in  the  back  of  her  mind. 
Gradually  it  had  faded  with  the  fading  of  a  mem 
ory;  but  to-night  the  colors  of  that  memory  re 
vived,  the  thought  startled  into  a  more  vivid 
existence. 

In  the  press  and  hurry  of  life,  not  less  in  Oxford 
than  in  other  modern  towns,  the  Stewarts  and 
Fletchers  did  not  meet  so  often  and  intimately  as  to 
make  inevitable  the  discovery  of  Mildred  Stewart's 
dual  personality  by  her  cousins.  They  said  she  had 
developed  moods ;  but  with  the  conservatism  of  re 
lations,  saw  nothing  in  her  that  they  had  not  seen 
in  her  nursery  days. 

Ian  and  Milly  walked  home  from  dinner,  according 
to  Oxford  custom,  but  a  Durham  man  walked  with 
them,  talking  over  a  College  question  with  Ian,  and 
they  did  not  find  themselves  alone  until  they  were 
within  the  wainscoted  walls  of  the  old  house.  Milly 
had  looked  so  pale  all  the  evening  that  Ian  expected 

165 


THE    INVADER 

her  to  go  to  bed  at  once;  but  she  followed  him 
into  the  study,  where  the  lamp  was  shedding  its 
circle  of  light  on  the  heaped  books  and  papers  of 
his  writing-table.  Making  some  perfunctory  re 
marks  which  she  barely  answered,  he  sat  down  to 
work  at  an  address  which  he  was  to  deliver  at  the 
meeting  of  a  learned  society  in  London. 

Milly  threw  off  her  white  shawl  and  seated  her 
self  on  the  old,  high-backed  sofa.  Her  dress  was  of 
some  gauzy  material  of  indeterminate  tone,  inter 
woven  with  gold  tinsel,  and  a  scarf  of  gauze  em 
broidered  with  gold  disguised  what  had  seemed  to 
her  an  over-liberal  display  of  dazzling  shoulders. 
Ian,  absorbed  in  his  work,  hardly  noticed  his  wife 
sitting  in  the  penumbra,  chin  on  hand,  staring  be 
fore  her  into  nothingness,  like  some  Cassandra  of 
the  hearth,  who  listens  to  the  inevitable  approach 
ing  footsteps  of  a  tragic  destiny.  At  last  she  said : 

"I've  got  something  awful  to  tell  you." 

Ian  startled,  dropped  his  pen  and  swung  him 
self  around  in  his  pivot  chair. 

"What  about?  Tony?"— for  it  was  to  this  di 
minutive  that  Mildred  had  reduced  the  flowing 
syllables  of  Antonio. 

"No,  your  cousin,  Maxwell  Davison." 

Now,  Ian  liked  his  cousin  well  enough,  but  by  no 
means  as  well  as  he  liked  Tony. 

"  About  Max !"  he  exclaimed,  relieved.  "  What's 
happened  to  him?" 

"  Nothing — but  oh,  Ian !  I — hate  even  to  speak 
of  such  a  thing — 

"Never  mind.     Just  tell  me  what  it  is." 
166 


THE    INVADER 

"  I  was  on  the  river  with  him  this  afternoon,  and 
he — he  made  love  to  me." 

The  lines  of  lan's  face  suddenly  hardened. 

"Did  he?"  he  returned,  significantly,  playing 
with  a  paper-knife.  Then,  after  a  pause:  "I'm 
awfully  sorry,  Milly.  I'd  no  idea  he  was  such  a 
cad." 

"He — he  wanted  me  to  run  away  with  him." 

lan's  face  became  of  an  almost  inhuman  severity. 

"I  shall  let  Maxwell  Davison  know  my  opinion 
of  him,"  he  said. 

"But  it's  worse — it's  even  more  horrible  than 
that.  He  was  expecting  me.  I — /  of  course  knew 
nothing  about  it;  I  only  knew  about  the  garden- 
party  at  Lady  Margaret.  But  he  said  I'd  prom 
ised  to  come ;  he  said  all  kinds  of  shocking,  horrid 
things  about  my  having  dressed  myself  up  for 
him—" 

"Please  don't  tell  me  what  he  said,  Milly,"  Ian 
interrupted,  still  coldly,  but  with  a  slight  expres 
sion  of  disgust.  "  I'd  rather  you  didn't.  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  have  taken  better  care  of  you,  my  poor 
little  girl,  but  really  here  in  Oxford  one  never  thinks 
of  anything  so  outrageous  happening." 

"  I  must  tell  you  one  thing,"  she  resumed,  almost 
obstinately.  "  He  said  he  knew  I  didn't  love  you — 
that  /  didn't  love  you,  my  own  darling  husband. 
Some  one,  some  one — must  be  responsible  for  his 
thinking  that.  How  do  I  know  what  happens 
when — when  I'm  awa'y.  My  poor  Ian!  Left  with 
a  creature  who  doesn't  love  you!" 

Ian  rose.  His  face  was  cold  and  hard  still,  but 
167 


THE    INVADER 

there  was  a  faint  flush  on  his  cheek,  the  mark  of  a 
frown  between  his  black  brows.  He  walked  to  a 
window  and  looked  out  into  the  moonlit  garden, 
where  the  gnarled  apple-trees  threw  weird  black 
shadows  on  grass  and  wall,  like  shapes  of  grotesque 
animals,  or  half-hidden  spectres,  lurking,  listening, 
waiting. 

"We're  getting  on  to  a  dangerous  subject,"  he 
answered,  at  length.  "  Don't  give  me  pain  by  im 
agining  evil  about  —  about  yourself.  You  could 
never,  under  any  aspect,  be  anything  but  innocent 
and  loyal  and  all  that  a  man  could  wish  his  wife 
to  be." 

He  smoothed  his  brow  with  an  effort,  went  up  to 
her,  and  taking  her  soft  face  between  his  hands 
kissed  her  forehead. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  forced  smile. 
"Don't  let's  talk  about  it  any  more,  darling.  Go 
to  bed  and  forget  all  about  it.  It  won't  seem  so 
bad  to-morrow  morning." 

But  Milly  did  not  respond.  When  he  released 
her  head  she  threw  it  back  against  her  own  clasped 
hands,  closing  her  eyes.  She  was  ghastly  pale. 

"No,"  she  moaned,  "I  can't  bear  it  by  myself. 
It's  too,  too  awful.  It's  not  Me;  it's  something 
that  takes  my  place.  I  saw  it  once.  It's  an  evil 
spirit.  O  God,  what  have  I  done  that  such  a 
thing  should  happen  to  me!  I've  always  tried  to 
be  good." 

There  was  a  clash  of  pity  and  anger  in  lan's 
breast.  Pity  for  Milly's  case,  anger  on  account  of 
her  whom  his  inmost  being  recognized  as  another, 

1 68 


THE    INVADER 

whatever  his  rational  self  might  say  to  the  matter. 
He  sat  down  beside  his  wife  and  uttered  soothing 
nothings.  But  she  turned  upon  him  eyes  of  wild 
despair,  the  more  tragic  because  it  broke  through 
a  nature  fitted  only  for  the  quietest  commonplaces 
of  life.  She  flung  herself  upon  him,  clutching  him 
tight,  hiding  her  face  upon  him. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?"  she  moaned  again.  "  You 
know  I  always  believed  in  God,  in  God's  love.  I 
wouldn't  have  disbelieved  even  if  He'd  taken  you 
away  from  me.  But  now  I  can't  believe  in  any 
thing.  There  must  be  wicked  spirits,  but  there 
can't  be  a  good  God  if  He  allows  them  to  take 
possession  of  a  poor  girl  like  me,  who's  never  done 
any  one  any  harm.  O  Ian,  I've  tried  to  pray, 
and  I  can't.  I  don't  believe  in  anything  now." 

Ian  was  deeply  perplexed.  He  himself  believed 
neither  in  a  God  nor  in  evil  spirits,  and  he  knew 
not  how  to  approach  Milly's  mind.  At  length  he 
said,  quietly: 

"I  should  have  expected  you,  dear,  to  have 
reasoned  about  this  a  little  more.  What's  the  use 
of  being  educated  if  we  give  way  to  superstition, 
like  savages,  directly  something  happens  that  we 
don't  quite  understand?  Some  day  an  eclipse  of 
conscious  personality,  like  yours,  will  come  to  be 
understood  as  well  as  an  eclipse  of  the  moon. 
Don't  let's  make  it  worse  by  conjuring  up  super 
stitious  terrors." 

"At  first  I  thought  it  was  like  that — an  eclipse 
of  memory.  But  now  I  feel  more  and  more  it's  a 
different  person  that's  here,  it's  not  I.  To-night 

169 


THE    INVADER 

Cousin  David  said  that  sometimes  when  he  met  me 
he  expected  to  find  when  he  got  home  that  his  Lady 
Hammerton  had  walked  away  out  of  the  frame. 
And,  Ian,  I  looked  up  at  that  portrait,  and  suddenly 
I  was  reminded  of — that  fearful  night  when  I  came 
back  and  saw — something.  I  am  descended  from 
that  woman,  and  you  know  how  wicked  she  was." 

Again  the  strange  irritation  stirred  in  the  midst 
of  lan's  pity. 

"Wicked,  darling!  That's  an  absurd  word  to 
use." 

"She  left  her  husband.  And  it's  awful  that  I, 
who  can't  understand  how  any  woman  could  be  so 
wicked  as  to  do  that,  should  be  so  terribly  like  her. 
I  feel  as  though  it  had  something  to  do  with  this 
appalling  thing  happening  to  me.  Perhaps  her 
sins  are  being  visited  on  me."  She  held  the  lapels 
of  his  coat  and  looked  tenderly,  yearningly,  in  his 
face.  "  And  I  could  bear  it  better  if —  But  oh,  my 
Ian !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  left  with  something 
wicked,  with  some  one  who  doesn't  love  you,  who 
deceives  you,  and — " 

"Milly,"  he  broke  in,  "I  won't  have  you  say 
things  like  that.  They  are  absolutely  untrue,  and 
I  won't  have  them  said." 

There  was  a  note  of  sternness  in  his  voice  that 
Milly  had  never  heard  before,  and  she  saw  a  hard 
look  come  into  his  averted  face  which  was  new  to 
her.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  gasp. 

"You  love  her?  You  love  that  wicked,  bad 
woman  so  much  you  won't  let  me  tell  you  what 
she  is?" 

170 


THE    INVADER 

He  drew  himself  away  from  her  with  a  gesture, 
and  in  a  minute  answered  with  cold  deliberation: 

"  I  cannot  cease  to  love  my  own  wife  because — 
because  she's  not  always  exactly  the  same." 

They  sat  silent  beside  each  other.  At  length 
Milly  rose  from  the  sofa.  The  tinselled  scarf,  that 
other  woman's  delicate  finery,  had  slipped  from  the 
white  beauty  of  her  shoulders.  She  drew  it  around 
her  again  slowly,  and  slowly  with  bowed  head  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BETWEEN  noon  and  one  o'clock  on  a  bright 
June  morning  there  is  no  place  in  the  world 
quite  so  full  of  sunshine  and  summer  as  the  quad 
rangle  of  an  Oxford  College.  Not  Age  but  Youth 
of  centuries  smiles  from  gray  walls  and  aery  pin 
nacles  upon  the  joyous  children  of  To-day.  Youth, 
in  a  bright-haired,  black-winged-butterfly  swarm, 
streams  out  of  every  dark  doorway,  from  the  austere 
shade  of  study,  to  disport  itself,  two  by  two,  or  in 
larger  eddying  groups,  upon  the  worn  gravel,  even 
venturously  flits  across  the  sacred  green  of  the  turf. 
There  is  an  effervescence  of  life  in  the  clear  air,  and 
the  sun-steeped  walls  of  stone  are  resonant  with  the 
cheerful  noise  of  young  voices.  Here  and  there 
men  already  in  flannels  pass  towards  the  gate ;  Dons 
draped  in  the  black  folds  of  the  stately  gown,  stand 
chatting  with  their  books  under  their  arms;  and 
since  the  season  of  festivity  has  begun,  scouts  hurry 
cautiously  to  and  fro  from  buttery  and  kitchen, 
bearing  brimming  silver  cups  crowned  with  blue 
borage  and  floating  straws,  or  trays  of  decorated 
viands.  The  scouts  are  grave  and  careworn,  but 
from  every  one  else  a  kind  of  physical  joy  and  con 
tentment  seems  to  breathe  as  perfume  breathes 

172 


THE    INVADER 

from  blossoms  and  even  leaves,  in  the  good  season 
of  the  year. 

Ian  Stewart  did  not  quite  resist  this  atmosphere 
of  physical  contentment.  He  stood  in  the  sunshine 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  passing  pupils;  yet 
at  the  back  of  his  mind  there  was  a  deep  distress. 
He  had  been  brought  up  in  the  moral  refinement, 
the  honorable  strictness  of  principle  with  regard  to 
moral  law,  common  to  his  academic  class,  and,  be 
sides,  he  had  an  innate  delicacy  and  sensibility  of 
feeling.  If  his  intelligence  perceived  that  there 
are  qualities,  individualities  which  claim  exemption 
from  ordinary  rules,  he  had  no  desire  to  claim  any 
such  exemption  for  himself.  Yet  he  found  himself 
occupying  the  position  of  a  man  torn  on  the  rack  be 
tween  a  jealous  wife  for  whom  he  has  affection  and 
esteem,  and  a  mistress  who  compels  his  love.  .Only 
here  was  not  alone  a  struggle  but  a  mystery,  and 
the  knot  admitted  of  no  severance. 

He  looked  around  upon  his  pupils,  upon  the  dis 
tant  figures  of  his  fellow  Dons,  robed  in  the  same 
garb,  seemingly  living  the  same  life  as  himself. 
Where  was  fact,  where  was  reality?  In  yonder 
phantasmagoric  procession  of  Oxford  life,  forever 
repeating  itself,  or  in  this  strange  tragi-comedy  of 
souls,  one  in  two  and  two  in  one,  passing  behind  the 
thick  walls  of  that  old  house  in  the  street  nearby  ? 
There  he  stood  among  the  rest,  part  and  parcel 
apparently  of  an  existence  as  ordinary,  as  peace 
ful,  as  monotonous  as  the  Victorian  era  could  pro 
duce.  Yet  if  he  were  to  tell  any  one  within  sight 
the  plain  truth  concerning  his  life,  it  would  be  re- 


THE    INVADER 

garded  as  a  fairy  tale,  the  fantastic  invention  of  an 
overwrought  brain. 

There  is  something  in  college  life  which  fosters 
a  reticence  that  is  almost  secretiveness ;  and  this  be 
comes  a  code,  a  religion ;  yet  Stewart  found  himself 
seized  with  an  intense  longing  to  confide  in  some 
one.  And  at  that  moment,  from  under  the  wide 
archway  leading  into  the  quadrangle,  appeared  the 
Master  of  Durham .  The  Master  was  in  cap  and  gown , 
and  carried  some  large  papers  under  his  arm;  he 
walked  slowly,  as  he  had  taken  to  walking  of  late,  his 
odd,  trotting  gait  transformed  almost  to  a  hobble. 
Meditative,  he  looked  straight  before  him  with  un 
seeing  eyes.  No  artist  was  ever  able  to  seize  the 
inner  and  the  outer  verity  of  that  round,  pink  baby 
face,  filled  with  the  power  of  a  weighty  personality 
and  a  penetrating  mind.  Stewart  marked  him  in 
that  minute,  sagacity  and  benevolence,  as  it  were, 
silently  radiating  from  him;  and  the  younger  man 
in  his  need  turned  to  the  wise  Master,  the  paternal 
friend  whose  counsels  had  done  so  much  to  set  his 
young  feet  in  the  way  of  success. 

When  Stewart  found  himself  in  the  Master's 
study,  the  study  so  familiar  to  his  youth,  with  its 
windows  looking  out  on  the  garden  quadrangle,  and 
saw  the  great  little  man  himself  seated  before  him 
at  the  writing-table,  he  marvelled  at  the  temerity 
that  had  brought  him  there  to  speak  on  such  a 
theme.  But  the  cup  was  poured  and  had  to  be 
drunk.  The  Master  left  him  to  begin.  He  sat  with 
a  plump  hand  on  each  plump  knee,  and  regarded 
his  old  pupil  with  silent  benevolence. 


THE    INVADER 

"I've  come  to  see  you,  Master,"  said  Stewart, 
"  because  I  feel  very  bewildered,  very  helpless,  in  a 
matter  which  touches  my  wife  even  more  than 
myself.  You  were  so  kind  about  my  marriage,  and 
you  have  always  been  good  to  her  as  well  as  to 
me." 

"  Miss  Flaxman  was  a  nice  young  lady,"  squeaked 
the  Master.  "  I  knew  you  married  wisely." 

"Something  happened  shortly  before  we  were 
engaged  which  she — we  didn't  quite  grasp — it's  im 
portance,  I  mean,"  Stewart  began.  He  then  spoke 
of  those  periodical  lapses  of  memory  in  his  wife 
which  he  had  come  to  see  involved  real  and  ex 
traordinary  variations  in  her  character — a  change, 
in  fact,  of  personality.  He  mentioned  their  futile 
visits  to  Norton-Smith,  the  brain  and  nerve  special 
ist.  The  Master  heard  him  without  either  moving 
or  interrupting.  When  he  had  done  there  was  a 
silence.  At  length  the  Master  said : 

"I  suspect  we  don't  understand  women." 

"Perhaps  not.  But,  Master,  haven't  you  your 
self  noticed  a  great  difference  in  my  wife  at  various 
times?" 

"  Not  more  than  I  feel  in  myself — not  of  another 
character,  that  is.  We  live  among  men;  we  live 
among  men  who,  generally  speaking,  know  nothing 
about  women.  That's  why  women  appear  to  us 
strange  and  unnatural.  Your  wife's  quite  normal, 
really." 

"But  the  memory  alone,  surely — " 

"That's  made  you  nervous;  but  I've  known 
cases  not  far  different.  You  remember  meeting 


THE    INVADER 

Sir  Henry  Milwood  here?  When  I  knew  him  he 
was  a  young  clergyman.  He  had  an  illness ;  forgot 
all  about  his  clerical  life,  and  went  sheep-farming 
in  Australia,  where  he  made  his  fortune." 

"But  his  personality?"  asked  Stewart,  with 
anxiety.  "Was  that  changed?" 

"  Certainly.  A  colonial  sheep-farmer  is  a  differ 
ent  person  from  a  young  Don  just  in  orders." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  Master.  I  mean  did  he  rise 
from  his  bed  with  ideas,  with  feelings  quite  opposite 
to  those  which  had  possessed  him  when  he  lay  down 
upon  it  ?  Did  he  ever  have  a  return  of  the  clerical 
phase,  during  which  he  forgot  how  he  became  a 
sheep-farmer  and  wished  to  take  up  his  old  work 
again  ?" 

"No— no." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  Master  played  with  his 
gold  spectacles  and  sucked  his  under  lip.  Then: 

"Take  a  good  holiday,  Stewart,"  he  said. 

Stewart's  clear-cut  face  hardened  and  flushed 
momentarily.  "These  are  not  fancies  of  my  own, 
Master.  Cases  occur  in  which  two,  sometimes  more 
than  two,  entirely  different  personalities  alternate 
in  the  same  individual.  The  spontaneous  cases  are 
rare,  of  course,  but  hypnotism  seems  to  develop 
them  pretty  freely.  The  facts  are  there,  but  Eng 
lish  scientists  prefer  to  say  nothing  about  them." 

The  Master  rose  and  trotted  restlessly  about. 

"They're  quite  right,"  he  returned,  at  length. 
"Such  ideas  can  lead  to  nothing  but  mischief." 

"  Surely  that  is  the  orthodox  theologian's  usual 
objection  to  scientific  fact." 

176 


THE    INVADER 

The  Master  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  his  rebel 
disciple.  For  although  he  was  an  officiating  clergy 
man,  he  and  the  orthodox  theologians  were  at  dag 
gers  drawn. 

"Views,  statements  of  this  kind  are  not  knowl 
edge,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  and  continued  moving 
uneasily  about  without  looking  at  Stewart. 

Stewart  did  not  reply ;  it  seemed  useless  to  go  on 
talking.  He  recognized  that  the  Master's  attitude 
was  what  his  own  had  been  before  the  iron  of  fact 
had  entered  into  his  flesh  and  spirit.  Yet  somehow 
he  had  hoped  that  his  Master's  large  and  keen  percep 
tion  of  human  things,  his  judicial  mind,  would  have 
lifted  him  above  the  prejudices  of  Reason.  He  sat 
there  cheerless,  his  college  cap  between  his  knees; 
and  was  seeking  the  moment  to  say  good-bye  when 
the  Master  suddenly  sat  down  beside  him.  To  any 
one  looking  in  at  the  window,  the  two  seated  side 
by  side  on  the  hard  sofa  would  have  seemed  an 
oddly  assorted  pair.  Stewart's  length  of  frame, 
the  raven  black  of  his  hair  and  beard,  the  marble 
pallor  of  his  delicate  features,  made  the  little  Mas 
ter  look  smaller,  pinker,  plumper  than  usual;  but 
his  face,  radiating  wisdom  and  affection,  was  more 
than  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of  his  old  disciple. 

"  I  took  a  great  interest  in  your  marriage,  Stew 
art,"  he  said.  "I  always  think  of  you  and  your 
wife  as  two  very  dear  young  friends.  You  must 
let  me  speak  to  you  now  as  a  father  might — and 
probably  wouldn't." 

Stewart  assented  with  affectionate  reverence. 

"  You  are  young,  but  your  wife  is  much  younger. 
»  177 


THE    INVADER 

A  man  marries  a  girl  many  years  younger  than  him 
self  and  has  not  the  same  feeling  of  responsibility 
towards  her  as  he  would  have  towards  a  young  man 
of  the  same  age.  He  seldom  considers  her  youth. 
Yet  his  responsibility  is  much  greater  towards  her 
than  towards  a  pupil  of  the  same  age;  she  needs 
more  help,  she  will  accept  more  in  forming  her  mind 
and  character.  Now  you  have  married  a  young 
lady  who  is  very  intelligent,  very  pleasing ;  but  she 
has  a  delicate  nervous  system,  and  it  has  been 
overstrained.  She  lets  this  peculiar  weakness  of 
her  memory  get  on  her  nerves.  You  have  nerves 
yourself,  you  have  imagination,  and  you  let  your 
mind  give  way  to  hers.  That's  not  wise ;  it's  not 
right.  Let  her  feel  that  these  moods  do  not  affect 
you;  be  sure  that  they  do  not.  What  matters 
mainly  is  that  your  mutual  love  should  remain 
unchanged.  When  your  wife  finds  that  her  happi 
ness,  her  real  happiness,  is  quite  untouched  by  these 
changes  of  mood,  she  will  leave  off  attributing  an 
exaggerated  importance  to  them.  So  will  you, 
Stewart.  You  will  see  them  in  their  right  pro 
portion  ;  you  will  see  the  great  evil  and  danger  of 
giving  way  to  imagination,  of  accepting  perverse 
psychological  hypotheses  as  guides  in  life.  Reason 
and  Religion  are  the  only  true  guides." 

The  Master  did  not  utter  these  sayings  continu 
ously.  There  were  pauses  which  Stewart  might 
have  filled,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  do  so.  The  spell 
of  his  old  teacher's  mind  and  aspect  was  upon  him. 
His  spirit  was,  as  it  were,  bowed  before  his  Master 
in  a  kind  of  humility. 

178 


THE    INVADER 

He  walked  home  with  a  lightened  heart,  feeling 
somewhat  as  a  devout  sinner  might  feel  to  whom 
his  confessor  had  given  absolution.  For  about 
twenty-four  hours  this  mood  lasted.  Then  he  con 
fronted  the  fact  that  the  beloved  Master's  advice 
had  been  largely,  though  not  altogether,  futile, 
because  it  had  not  dealt  with  actuality.  And  Ian 
Stewart  saw  himself  to  be  moving  in  the  plain, 
ordinary  world  of  men  as  solitary  as  a  ghost  which 
vainly  endeavors  to  make  its  presence  and  its  needs 
recognized. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TIMS  had  ceased  to  be  an  inhabitant  of  Oxford. 
She  was  studying  physiology  in  London  and 
luxuriating  in  the  extraordinary  cheapness  of  life 
in  Cranham  Chambers.  Not  that  she  had  any  spe 
cial  need  of  cheapness;  but  the  spinster  aunt  who 
brought  her  up  had,  together  with  a  comfortable 
competence,  left  her  the  habit  of  parsimony.  If, 
however,  she  did  not  know  how  to  enjoy  her  own 
income,  she  allowed  many  women  poorer  than  her 
self  to  benefit  by  it. 

She  was  no  correspondent;  and  an  examination, 
followed  by  the  serious  illness  of  her  next-door 
neighbor  —  Mr.  Fitzalan,  a  solitary  man  with  a 
small  post  in  the  British  Museum — had  prevented 
her  from  visiting  Oxford  during  Mildred's  last  in 
vasion.  She  had  imagined  Milly  Stewart  to  have 
been  leading  for  two  undisturbed  years  the  busily 
tranquil  life  proper  to  her;  adoring  Ian  and  the 
baby,  managing  her  house,  and  going  sometimes 
to  church  and  sometimes  to  committees,  without 
wholly  neglecting  the  cultivation  of  the  mind. 
A  letter  from  Milly,  in  which  she  scented  trouble, 
made  her  call  herself  sternly  to  account  for  her 
long  neglect  of  her  friend. 

It  was  now  the  Long  Vacation,  but  Miss  Burt 
1 80 


THE    INVADER 

was  still  at  Ascham  and  Lady  Thomson  was  spend 
ing  a  week  with  her.  She  had  stayed  with  the 
Stewarts  in  the  spring,  and  resolutely  keeping  a 
blind  eye  turned  towards  whatever  she  ought  to 
have  disapproved  in  Mildred,  had  lauded  her  return 
to  bodily  vigor,  and  also  to  good  sense,  in  ceasing 
to  fuss  about  the  health  of  Ian  and  the  baby. 
Aunt  Beatrice  would  have  blushed  to  own  a  hus 
band  and  child  whose  health  required  care.  This 
time  when  she  dined  with  the  Stewarts  she  had 
found  Milly  reprehensibly  pale  and  dispirited.  One 
day  shortly  afterwards  she  came  in  to  tea.  The 
nurse  happened  to  be  out,  and  Tony,  now  a  beau 
tiful  child  of  fifteen  months,  was  sitting  on  the 
drawing-room  floor. 

The  two  women  were  discussing  plans  for  raising 
money  to  build  a  gymnasium  at  Ascham,  but  Tony 
was  not  interested  in  the  subject.  He  kept  work 
ing  his  way  along  the  floor  to  his  mother,  partly  on 
an  elbow  and  a  knee,  but  mostly  on  his  stomach. 
Arrived  at  his  goal  he  would  pull  her  skirt,  indicate 
as  well  as  he  could  a  little  box  lying  by  his  neglected 
picture-book,  and  grunt  with  much  expression. 
A  monkey  lived  inside  the  box,  and  Tony,  whose 
memory  was  retentive,  persevered  in  expecting  to 
hear  that  monkey  summoned  by  wild  tattoos  and 
subterranean  growls  until  it  jumped  up  with  a 
bang — a  splendidly  terrible  thing  of  white  bristles, 
and  scarlet  snout — to  dance  the  fandango  to  a  live 
ly  if  unmusical  tune.  Then  Tony,  be  sure,  would 
laugh  until  he  rolled  from  side  to  side.  Mummy 
never  responded  to  his  wishes  now,  but  Daddy  had 

181 


THE    INVADER 

pleaded  for  the  Jack-in-the-box  to  be  spared,  and 
sometimes  when  quite  alone  with  Tony,  would  play 
the  monkey-game  in  his  inferior  paternal  style, 
pleased  with  such  modified  appreciation  as  the 
young  critic  might  bestow  upon  him. 

"I'm  sorry  Baby's  so  troublesome,"  apologized 
the  distressed  Milly,  for  the  third  time  lifting  Tony 
up  and  replacing  him  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  his 
picture-book.  "I'm  trying  to  teach  him  to  sit 
quiet,  but  I'm  afraid  he's  been  played  with  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  should  have  been." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought  so  the  last  time  I 
was  here,"  replied  Aunt  Beatrice.  "But  he's  still 
young  enough  to  be  properly  trained.  It's  such 
waste  of  a  reasonable  person's  time  to  spend  it 
making  idiotic  noises  at  a  small  baby.  And  it's 
a  thousand  times  better  for  the  child's  brain  and 
nerves  for  it  to  be  left  entirely  to  itself." 

Tony  said  nothing,  but  his  face  began  to  work  in 
a  threatening  manner. 

"I  perfectly  agree  with  you,  Aunt  Beatrice,"  re 
sponded  Milly,  eagerly. 

Lady  Thomson  continued: 

"  Children  should  be  spoken  to  as  little  as  possible 
until  they  are  from  two  to  two  and  a  half  years  old ; 
then  they  should  be  taught  to  speak  correctly." 

Milly  chimed  in:  "Yes,  that's  always  been  my 
own  view.  I  do  feel  it  so  important  that  their  very 
first  impressions  should  be  the  right  ones,  that  the 
first  pictures  they  see  should  be  good,  that  they 
should  never  be  sung  to  out  of  tune  and  in  general — " 

Apparently  this  programme  for  babies  did  not 
182 


THE    INVADER 

commend  itself  to  Tony;  certainly  the  first  item, 
enjoining  silent  development,  did  not.  His  face 
had  by  this  time  worked  the  right  number  of  minutes 
to  produce  a  roar,  and  it  came.  Milly  picked  him 
up,  but  the  wounds  of  his  spirit  were  not  to  be 
immediately  healed,  and  the  roar  continued.  Final 
ly  he  had  to  be  handed  over  to  the  parlor-maid, 
and  so  came  to  great  happiness  in  the  kitchen, 
where  there  were  no  rules  against  infantile  con 
versation.  Milly  was  flushed  and  disturbed. 

"Baby  has  not  been  properly  brought  up,"  she 
said.  "  He's  been  allowed  his  own  way  too  much." 

"  Since  you  say  so,  Milly,  I  must  confess  I  noticed 
in  the  spring  that  you  seemed  to  be  bringing  the 
child  up  in  an  easy-going,  old-fashioned  way  I 
should  hardly  have  expected  of  you.  I  hope  you 
will  begin  now  to  study  the  theory  of  education.  A 
mother  should  take  her  vocation  seriously.  I  own 
I  don't  altogether  understand  the  taste  for  frivolities 
which  you  have  developed  since  you  married.  It's 
harmless,  no  doubt,  but  it  doesn't  seem  quite  natural 
in  a  young  woman  who  has  taken  a  First  in  Greats." 

Milly 's  hands  grasped  the  arms  of  her  chair  con 
vulsively.  She  looked  at  her  aunt  with  desolation 
in  her  dark-ringed  eyes.  The  last  thing  she  had 
ever  intended  was  to  mention  the  mysterious  and 
disastrous  fate  that  had  befallen  her ;  yet  she  did  it. 

"The  person  you  saw  here  last  spring  wasn't  I. 
Oh,  Aunt  Beatrice !  Can't  you  see  the  difference  ?" 

Lady  Thomson  looked  at  her  in  surprise: 

"What  do  you  mean?  I  was  speaking  of  my 
visit  to  you  in  March." 

183 


THE   INVADER 

"And  don't  you  see  the  difference?  Oh,  how 
hateful  you  must  have  found  me!" 

"Really,  Mildred,  I  saw  nothing  hateful  about 
you.  On  the  contrary,  if  you  want  the  plain  truth, 
I  greatly  prefer  you  in  a  cheerful,  common-sense 
mood,  as  you  were  then,  even  if  your  high  spirits  do 
lead  you  into  a  little  too  much  frivolity.  I  think 
it  a  more  wholesome,  and  therefore  ultimately  a 
more  useful,  frame  of  mind  than  this  causeless  de 
pression,  which  leads  you  to  take  such  a  morbid, 
exaggerated  view  of  things." 

Every  word  pierced  Milly's  heart  with  a  double 
pang. 

"You  liked  her  better  than  me?"  she  asked, 
piteously.  "Yet  I've  always  tried  to  be  just  what 
you  wanted  me  to  be,  Aunt  Beatrice,  to  do  every 
thing  you  thought  right,  and  she —  Oh,  it's  too 
awful!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mildred?" 

"I  mean  that  the  person  you  prefer  to  me  as  I 
am  now,  the  person  who  was  here  in  March,  wasn't 
I  at  all." 

The  fine  healthy  carnation  of  Lady  Thomson's 
cheek  paled.  In  her  calm,  rapid  way  she  at  once 
found  the  explanation  of  Milly's  unhealthy,  de 
pressed  appearance  and  manner.  Poor  Mildred 
Stewart  was  insane.  Beyond  the  paling  of  her 
cheek,  however,  Lady  Thomson  allowed  no  sign  of 
shock  to  be  visible  in  her. 

"That's  an  exaggerated  way  of  talking,"  she 
replied.  "I  suppose  you  mean  your  mood  was 
different." 

184 


THE    INVADER 

Milly  was  looking  straight  in  front  of  her  with 
haggard  eyes. 

"  No ;  it  simply  wasn't  I  at  all.  You  believe  in 
the  Bible,  don't  you?" 

"Not  in  verbal  inspiration,  of  course,  but  in  a 
general  way,  yes,"  returned  Lady  Thomson,  puzzled 
but  guarded. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  demoniacs?  In  posses 
sion  by  evil  spirits?" 

Milly  was  not  looking  at  vacancy  now.  Her 
desperate  hands  clutched  the  arms  of  her  chair,  as 
she  leaned  forward  and  fixed  her  aunt  with  hollow 
eyes,  awaiting  her  reply. 

"  Certainly  not !  Most  certainly  not !  They  were 
obviously  cases  of  epilepsy  and  insanity,  misinter 
preted  by  an  ignorant  age." 

"No — it's  all  true,  quite  literally  true.  Three 
times,  and  for  six  months  or  more  each  time,  I  have 
been  possessed  by  a  spirit  that  cannot  be  good.  I 
know  it's  not.  It  takes  my  body,  it  takes  the  love 
of  people  I  care  for,  away  from  me —  Milly's 
voice  broke  and  she  pressed  her  handkerchief  over 
her  face.  "  You  all  think  her —  But  she's  bad,  and 
some  day  she'll  do  something  wicked — something 
that  will  break  my  heart,  and  you'll  all  insist  it  was  I 
who  did  it,  and  you'll  believe  I'm  a  wicked  woman." 

Lady  Thomson  looked  very  grave. 

"Mildred,  dear,"  she  said,  "try  and  collect  your 
self.  It  is  really  wicked  of  you  to  give  way  to 
such  terrible  fancies.  Would  God  permit  such  a 
thing  to  happen  to  one  of  His  children?  We  feel 
sure  He  would  not." 

185 


THE    INVADER 

Milly  shook  her  head,  but  the  struggle  with  her 
hysterical  sobs  kept  her  silent.  Lady  Thomson 
walked  to  the  window,  feeling  more  "upset"  than 
she  had  ever  felt  in  her  life.  The  window  was 
open,  but  an  awning  shut  out  the  view  of  the  street. 
From  the  window-boxes,  filled  with  pink  geraniums 
and  white  stocks,  a  sweet,  warm  scent  floated  into 
the  room,  and  the  rattle  of  the  milkman's  cart,  the 
chink  of  his  cans,  fell  upon  Lady  Thomson's  un 
heeding  ears.  So  did  voices  in  colloquy,  but  she 
did  not  particularly  note  a  female  one  of  a  thin, 
chirpy  quality,  addressing  the  parlor -maid  with 
a  familiarity  probably  little  appreciated  by  that 
elegantly  decorous  damsel. 

Milly  had  scarcely  mastered  her  tears  and  Lady 
Thomson  had  just  begun  to  address  her  in  quiet, 
firm  tones,  when  Tims  burst  unannounced  into  the 
room.  Her  hat  was  incredibly  on  one 'side,  and  her 
sallow  face  almost  crimson  with  heat,  but  bright 
with  pleasure  at  rinding  herself  once  more  in 
Oxford. 

"Hullo,  old  girl!"  she  cried,  blind  to  the  serious 
scene  into  which  she  was  precipitated.  "  How  are 
you?  Now  don't  kiss  me"-  -  throwing  herself 
into  an  attitude  of  violent  defence  against  an  em 
brace  not  yet  offered — "I'm  too  hot.  Carried  my 
bag  myself  all  the  way  from  the  station  and  saved 
the  omnibus." 

Lady  Thomson  fixed  Tims  with  a  look  of  more 
than  usually  cold  disapproval.  Milly  proffered  a 
constrained  greeting. 

"Anything  gone  wrong?"  asked  Tims,  after  a 
1 86 


THE    INVADER 

minute,  peering  at  Milly's  tear-stained   eyes  with 
her  own  short-sighted  ones. 

Milly  answered  with  a  forced  self-restraint  which 
appeared  like  cold  deliberation. 

"Aunt  Beatrice  thinks  I'm  mad  because  I  say 
I'm  not  the  same  person  she  found  in  my  place  last 
March.  I  want  you  to  tell  her  that  it's  not  just 
my  fancy,  but  that  you  know  that  sometimes  a 
quite  different  person  takes  my  place,  and  I'm  not 
responsible  for  anything  she  says  or  does." 

"  Yes,  that's  a  solemn  Gospel  fact,  right  enough/' 
affirmed  Tims. 

Lady  Thomson  could  hardly  control  her  indigna 
tion,  but  she  did,  although  she  spoke  sternly  to  Tims. 

"Do  I  understand  you  to  say,  Miss  Timson, 
that  it's  a  'solemn  Gospel  fact' — Gospel!  Good 
Heavens — that  Milly  is  possessed  by  a  devil?" 

Tims  plumped  down  on  the  sofa  and  stared  at 
Lady  Thomson. 

"  Possessed  by  a  devil  ?  Good  Lord,  no !  What 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"Mildred  believes  herself  to  be  possessed  by  an 
evil  spirit." 

Tims  turned  to  Milly  in  consternation. 

"  Milly,  old  girl !  Come !  Poor  old  Milly !  I  never 
thought  you  were  so  superstitious  as  all  that.  Be 
sides,  I  know  more  about  it  than  you  do,  and  I  tell 
you  straight,  you  mayn't  be  quite  such  a  good  sort 
when  you're  in  your  other  phase,  but  as  to  there 
being  a  devil  in  it — well,  devil's  all  nonsense,  but  if 
that  were  so,  I  should  like  to  have  a  devil  myself, 
and  the  more  the  merrier." 

187 


THE   INVADER 

Milly  turned  on  her  a  face  pale  with  horror  and 
indignation.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  she  raised  a 
remonstrating  hand. 

"Hush!"  she  cried.  "Hush!  You  don't  know 
what  dreadful  things  you're  saying.  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  this  spirit  is  that  robs  me  of  my  life ; 
I'm  only  sure  it's  not  Me  and  it's  not  good." 

"Whatever  may  be  the  matter  with  you,  Mil 
dred,"  said  Lady  Thomson,  "it  can't  possibly  be 
that.  I  suppose  you  have  suffered  from  loss  of 
memory  again  and  it's  upset  your  nerves.  Why 
will  people  have  nerves?  I  should  advise  you  to 
go  to  Norton-Smith  at  once." 

Milly's  tears  were  flowing  again  but  she  managed 
to  reply: 

"  I've  been  to  Dr.  Norton-Smith,  Aunt  Beatrice. 
He  doesn't  seem  to  understand." 

"He  doesn't  want  to,"  interjected  Tims,  scorn 
fully.  "You  don't  suppose  a  respectable  English 
nerve  -  doctor  wants  to  know  anything  about 
psychology?  They'd  be  interested  in  the  case  in 
France,  or  in  the  United  States,  but  they  wouldn't 
be  able  to  keep  down  Milly  Number  Two." 

"Then  what  use  would  they  be  to  me?"  asked 
Milly,  despairingly.  "I  can  only  trust  in  God; 
and  He  seems  to  have  forsaken  me." 

"No,  no,  my  dear  child!"  cried  Lady  Thomson. 
"  Don't  talk  in  this  painful  way.  I  can't  imagine 
what  you  mean,  Miss  Timson.  It  all  sounds  dread 
fully  mad." 

"I  can  explain  the  whole  case  to  you  perfectly," 
stated  Tims,  with  eager  confidence. 

188 


THE    INVADER 

"I'd  better  go  away,"  gasped  Milly  between  her 
convulsive  sobs.  "I  can't  bear  any  more.  But 
Aunt  Beatrice  must  know  now.  Tell  her  what  you 
like,  only — only  it  isn't  true.'? 

Milly  fled  to  her  bedroom ;  the  long,  low  room,  so 
perfect  in  its  simplicity,  its  windows  looking  away 
into  the  sunshine  over  the  pleasant  boughs  of  or 
chards  and  garden-plots  and  the  gray  shingled  roofs 
of  old  houses — the  room  from  which  on  that  No 
vember  evening  Milly 's  spirit  had  been  absent 
while  Ian,  the  lover  whom  she  had  never  known, 
had  watched  his  Beloved,  the  Desire  of  his  soul  and 
sense,  returning  to  him  from  the  unimagined  limbo 
to  which  she  had  again  withdrawn. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WHEN  Ian  came  back  from  the  Bodleian 
Library,  where  he  was  working,  he  heard 
voices  talking  in  raised  tones  before  he  entered  the 
drawing-room.  He  found  no  Milly  there,  but  Lady 
Thomson  andMissTimson  seatedat  the  extreme  ends 
of  the  same  sofa  and  engaged  in  a  heated  discussion. 

"It  can't  be  true,"  Lady  Thomson  was  stating 
firmly.  "  If  it  were,  what  becomes  of  Personal  Im 
mortality?" 

Miss  Timson  had  just  time  to  convey  the  fact 
that  Personal  Immortality  was  not  the  affair  of  a 
woman  of  science,  before  she  rose  to  greet  Ian, 
which  she  did  effusively. 

"Hullo!"  he  remarked,  cheerfully,  when  her 
effusion  was  over.  "No  Milly  and  no  tea!" 

"We  don't  want  either  just  yet,"  returned  Lady 
Thomson.  "I'm  terribly  anxious  about  Mildred, 
Ian,  and  Miss  Timson  has  not  said  anything  to  make 
me  less  so.  I  want  a  sound,  sensible  opinion  on  the 
state  of  her — her  nerves." 

lan's  brow  clouded. 

"Tell  me  frankly,  do  you  notice  so  great  a  dif 
ference  in  her  from  time  to  time,  as  to  account  for 
the  positively  insane  delusion  she  has  got  into  her 
head?" 

190 


THE   INVADER 

"What  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Beatrice?"  asked  Ian, 
shortly,  sternly  eying  Tims,  whom  he  imagined  to 
have  let  out  the  secret. 

"Mildred  has  made  an  extraordinary  statement 
to  me  about  not  being  the  same  person  now  as  she- 
was  in  March.  Of  course  I  see  she — well,  she  is  not 
so  full  of  life  as  she  was  then.  Yes,  I  do  admit  she 
is  in  a  very  different  mood.  But  do  you  know  the 
poor  unfortunate  child  has  got  it  into  her  head  that 
she  is  possessed  by  an  evil  spirit  ?  I  can't  think 
how  you  could  have  allowed  her  to  come  to  that 
state  of — of  mental  aberration,  without  doing  any 
thing." 

Ian  was  silent.  He  looked  gaunt  and  sombrely 
dark  in  the  low,  awning  -  shaded  room,  with  its 
heavy  beams  and  floor  of  wavelike  unevenness. 

"You'll  have  to  put  her  under  care  next,  if  you 
don't  take  some  steps.  Send  her  for  a  sea- voyage." 

"  I'd  take  her  myself  if  I  thought  it  would  do  her 
any  good,"  said  Tims.  "But  I'll  lay  my  bottom 
dollar  it  wouldn't." 

"I'm  afraid  I  think  Miss  Timson's  view  of  the 
matter  as  insane  as  Milly's,"  returned  Lady  Thom 
son,  tartly. 

Ian  lifted  his  bowed  head  and  addressed  Tims: 

"  I  should  like  to  know  exactly  what  your  view 
of  the  matter  is,  Miss  Timson.  We  need  not  dis 
cuss  poor  Milly's;  it's  too  absurd  and  also  too 
painful." 

"It's  no  doubt  a  case  of  disintegration  of  per 
sonality,"  replied  Tims,  after  a  pause.  "Some 
where  inside  our  brains  must  be  a  nerve-centre 

191 


THE    INVADER 

which  co-ordinates  most  of  our  mental,  our  sensory 
and  motor  processes,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce 
consciousness,  volition,  what  we  call  personality. 
But  after  all  there  are  always  plenty  of  activities 
within  us  going  on  independent  of  it.  Your  heart 
beats,  your  stomach  digests — even  your  memory 
works  apart  from  your  consciousness  sometimes. 
Now  suppose  some  shock  or  strain  enfeebles  your 
centre  of  consciousness,  so  that  it  ceases  to  be  able  to 
co-ordinate  all  the  mental  processes  it  has  been  ac 
customed  to  superintend.  What  you  call  your  per 
sonality  is  the  outcome  of  your  memory  and  all  your 
other  faculties  and  tendencies  working  together, 
checking  and  balancing  each  other.  Suppose  your 
centre  of  consciousness  so  enfeebled;  suppose  at 
the  same  time  an  enfeeblement  of  memory,  causing 
you  to  completely  forget  external  facts :  certain  of 
your  faculties  and  tendencies  are  left  working  and 
they  are  co-ordinated  without  an  important  part 
of  the  memory,  without  many  other  faculties  and 
tendencies  which  checked  and  balanced  them. 
Naturally  you  appear  to  yourself  and  to  every  one 
else  a  totally  different  person;  but  it's  not  a  new 
personality  really,  it's  only  a  bit  of  the  old  one  which 
goes  on  its  own  hook,  while  the  rest  is  quiescent." 

"This  is  the  most  abominably  materialistic  the 
ory  of  the  human  mind  I  ever  heard,"  exclaimed 
Lady  Thomson,  indignantly.  "The  most  degrad 
ing  to  our  spiritual  natures." 

Ian  leaned  against  the  high,  carved  mantel-piece 
and  pushed  back  the  black  hair  from  his  forehead. 

"I'm  not  concerned  with  that,"  he  replied,  de- 
192 


THE    INVADER 

liberately,  discussing  this  case  so  vitally  near  to 
him  with  an  almost  terrible  calmness.  "  But  I 
can't  feel  that  this  disintegration  theory  altogether 
covers  the  ground.  There  is  no  development  of 
characteristics  previously  to  be  found  in  Milly; 
on  the  contrary,  the  qualities  of  mind  and  character 
which  she  exhibits  when — when  the  change  conies 
over  her,  are  precisely  the  opposite  of  those  she 
exhibits  in  what  I  presume  we  ought  to  call  her 
normal  state." 

"There  must  be  some  reason  for  it,  old  chap,  you 
know,"  returned  Tims;  "and  it  seems  to  me  that's 
the  line  you've  got  to  move  along,  unless  you're  an 
idiot  and  go  in  for  devils  or  spiritualistic  nonsense." 

"  I  believe  I've  followed  what  you've  been  saying, 
Miss  Timson,"  said  Lady  Thomson,  in  her  fullest 
tones;  "and  I  can  assure  you  I  feel  under  no  ne 
cessity  to  become  either  a  materialist  or  an  idiot  in 
consequence." 

Ian  spoke  again. 

"  I  don't  profess  to  be  scientific,  but  I  do  seem 
to  see  another  possible  line,  running  parallel  with 
yours,  but  not  quite  the  same.  It's  evident  we  can 
inherit  faculties,  characteristics,  from  our  ancestors 
which  never  become  active  in  us ;  but  we  know  they 
must  have  been  present  in  us  in  a  quiescent  state, 
because  we  can  transmit  them  to  children  in  whom 
they  become  active.  Mildred's  father  and  mother, 
for  example,  are  not  scholars,  although  her  grand 
father  and  great-grandfather  were;  yet  in  one  of 
her  parents  at  least  there  must  be  a  germ  of  the 
scholar's  faculty  which  has  never  been  developed, 
13  193 


THE    INVADER 

because  Mildred  has  inherited  it.  Now  why  can't 
we  develop  all  the  facilities,  the  germs  of  which 
lie  within  our  borders  ?  Perhaps  because  we  have 
each  only  a  certain  amount  of  what  I'll  call  vital 
current.  If  the  Nile  could  overflow  the  whole 
desert  it  would  all  be  fertilized,  and  perhaps  if 
we  had  sufficient  vital  force  we  could  develop  all 
the  faculties  whose  germs  we  inherit.  Suppose 
by  some  accident,  owing  to  a  shock  or  strain,  as  you 
say,  the  flow  of  this  vital  current  of  ours  is  stopped 
in  the  direction  in  which  it  usually  flows  most 
strongly;  its  course  is  diverted  and  it  fertilizes 
tracts  of  our  brain  and  nervous  system  which  before 
have  been  lying  quiescent,  sterile.  If  we  lose  the 
memory  of  our  former  lives,  and  if  at  the  same  time 
hereditary  faculties  and  tendencies,  of  the  existence 
of  which  we  were  unaware,  suddenly  become  active 
in  us,  we  are  practically  new  personalities.  Then 
say  the  vital  current  resumes  its  old  course;  we 
regain  our  memories,  our  old  faculties,  while  the 
newly  developed  ones  sink  again  into  quiescence. 
We  are  once  more  our  old  selves.  No  doubt  this 
is  all  very  unscientific,  but  so  far  Science  seems  to 
have  nothing  to  say  on  the  question." 

"It  certainly  has  not,"  commented  Lady  Thom 
son,  decisively.  "  I  ought  to  know  what  Science  is, 
considering  how  often  I've  met  Mr.  Darwin  and 
Professor  Huxley.  Hypnotism  and  this  kind  of 
unpleasant  talk  is  not  Science.  It's  only  a  new 
variety  of  the  hocus-pocus  that's  been  imposing  on 
human  weakness  ever  since  the  world  began.  I'd 
sooner  believe  with  poor  Milly  that  she's  possessed 

194 


THE   INVADER 

by  a  devil.  It's  less  silly  to  accept  inherited  su 
perstitions  than  to  invent  brand-new  ones." 

"  But  we've  got  to  account  somehow  for  the  ex 
traordinary  changes  which  take  place  in  Milly," 
sighed  Ian,  wearily. 

The  light  lines  across  his  forehead  were  showing 
as  furrows,  and  Tims's  whole  face  was  corrugated. 

"No  hocus-pocus  about  them,  anyway,"  she 
said. 

"There's  a  great  deal  of  fancy  about  them,"  re 
torted  Lady  Thomson.  "A  nervous,  imaginative 
man  like  you,  Ian,  ought  to  be  on  your  guard  against 
allowing  such  notions  to  get  hold  of  you.  It's  so 
easy  to  fancy  things  are  as  you're  afraid  they  may 
be,  and  then  you  influence  Milly  and  she  goes  from 
bad  to  worse.  I  think  I  may  claim  to  understand 
her  if  any  one  does,  and  all  I  see  is  that  she  gives  way 
to  moods.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  steady  devel 
opment  of  character ;  but  I  admit  that  when  she  is 
unwell  and  out  of  spirits,  she  becomes  just  her  old 
timid,  over-conscientious  self  again.  She's  always 
been  very  easily  influenced,  very  dependent,  and 
now— I  hardly  like  to  say  such  a  thing  of  my  own 
niece — but  I  fear  there's  a  touch  of  hysteria  about 
her.  I've  always  heard  that  hysterical  people, 
even  when  they've  been  perfectly  frank  and  truth 
ful  before,  become  deceitful  and  act  parts  till  it's 
impossible  to  tell  fact  from  falsehood  with  regard 
to  them.  I  would  suggest  your  letting  Mildred 
come  to  me  for  a  month  or  two,  Ian.  I  feel  sure  I 
should  send  her  back  to  you  quite  cured  of  all  this 
nonsense." 


THE    INVADER 

At  this  point  Milly  came  in.  Ian  stretched  out 
his  hand  towards  her  with  protective  tenderness; 
but  even  at  the  moment  when  his  whole  soul  was 
moved  by  an  impulse  of  compassion  so  strong  that 
it  seemed  almost  love,  a  spirit  within  him  arose  and 
mocked  at  all  hypotheses,  telling  him  that  this  poor 
stricken  wife  of  his,  seemingly  one  with  the  lady  of 
his  heart,  was  not  she,  but  another. 

"  Aunt  Beatrice  was  just  saying  you  ought  to  get 
away  from  domestic  cares  for  a  month  or  two, 
Milly,"  he  said,  as  cheerfully  as  he  could. 

Lady  Thomson  explained. 

"What  you  want  is  a  complete  change;  though 
I  don't  know  what  people  mean  when  they  talk 
about  'domestic  cares.'  I  should  like  to  have  you 
up  at  Clewes  for  the  rest  of  the  Long.  Ian  can  look 
after  the  baby." 

Milly  smiled  at  her  sweetly,  but  rather  as  though 
she  were  talking  nonsense. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  Aunt  Beatrice,  but  Ian 
and  I  have  never  been  parted  for  a  day  since  we 
were  married;  I  mean  not  when — and  I  don't  feel 
as  though  I  could  spare  a  minute  of  his  company. 
And  poor  Baby,  too!  Oh  no!  But  of  course  it's 
very  good  of  you  to  think  of  it." 

"Then  you  must  all  come  to  Clewes,"  decided 
Aunt  Beatrice,  after  some  remonstrance.  "That  '11 
settle  it." 

"  But  my  work!"  ejaculated  Ian  in  dismay.  "  How 
am  I  to  get  on  at  Clewes,  away  from  the  libraries  ?" 

"There  are  some  things  in  life  more  important 
than  books,  Ian,"  returned  Lady  Thomson. 

196 


THE    INVADER 

"But  it  won't  do  a  penn'orth  of  good,"  broke  in 
Tims,  argumentatively.  "  I  don't  pretend  to  have 
more  than  a  working  hypothesis,  but  whoever  else 
may  prove  to  be  right,  Lady  Thomson's  on  the 
wrong  line." 

Lady  Thomson  surveyed  her  in  silence ;  Ian  took 
no  notice  of  her  remark.  He  was  looking  before 
him  with  a  sadness  incomprehensible  to  the  un- 
creative  man — to  the  man  who  has  never  dreamed 
dreams  and  seen  visions ;  with  the  sadness  of  one 
who  just  as  the  cloudy  emanations  of  his  mind  are 
beginning  to  take  form  and  substance  sees  them 
scattered,  perhaps  never  again  to  reunite,  by  some 
cold  breath  from  the  relentless  outside  world  of  cir 
cumstance.  He  made  his  renunciation  in  silence; 
then,  with  a  quiet  smile,  he  turned  to  Lady  Thom 
son  and  answered  her. 

"You're  very  kind,  Aunt  Beatrice,  and  quite 
right.  There  are  things  in  life  much  more  impor 
tant  than  books." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SO  the  summer  went  by;  a  hot  summer,  passed 
brightly  enough  to  all  appearance  in  the  spa 
cious  rooms  and  gardens  of  Clewes  and  in  expedi 
tions  among  the  neighboring  fells.  But  to  Ian  it 
seemed  rather  an  anxious  pause  in  life.  His  work 
was  at  a  stand-still,  yet  whatever  the  optimistic 
Aunt  Beatrice  might  affirm,  he  could  not  feel  that 
the  shadow  was  lifting  from  his  wife's  mind.  To 
others  she  appeared  cheerful  in  the  quiet,  serious 
way  that  had  always  been  hers,  but  he  saw  that  her 
whole  attitude  towards  life,  especially  in  her  wistful, 
yearning  tenderness  towards  himself  and  Tony,  was 
that  of  a  woman  who  feels  the  stamp  of  death  to 
be  set  upon  her.  At  night,  lying  upon  his  breast, 
she  would  sometimes  cling  to  him  in  an  agony  of 
desperate  love,  adjuring  him  to  tell  her  the  truth  as 
to  that  Other :  whether  he  did  not  see  that  she  was 
different  from  his  own  Milly,  whether  it  were  pos 
sible  that  he  could  love  that  mysterious  being  as  he 
loved  her,  his  true,  loving  wife.  Ian,  who  had  been 
wont  to  hold  stern  doctrines  as  to  the  paramount 
obligation  of  truthfulness,  perjured  himself  again 
and  again,  and  hoped  the  Recording  Angel  dropped 
the  customary  tear.  But,  however  deep  the  per 
jury,  before  long  he  was  sure  to  find  himself  obliged 
to  renew  it. 

198 


THE    INVADER 

To  a  man  of  his  sensitive  and  punctilious  nature 
the  situation  was  almost  intolerable.  The  pity  of 
this  tender,  innocent  life,  his  care,  which  seemed 
like  some  little  inland  bird,  torn  by  the  tempest 
from  its  native  fields  and  tossed  out  to  be  the  play 
thing  of  an  immense  and  terrible  ocean  whose 
deeps  no  man  has  sounded !  The  pity  of  that  other 
life,  so  winged  for  shining  flight,  so  armed  for 
triumphant  battle,  yet  held  down  helpless  in  those 
cold  ocean  depths,  and  for  pity's  sake  not  to  be 
helped  by  so  much  as  a  thought!  Yet  from  the 
thorns  of  his  hidden  life  he  plucked  one  flower  of 
comfort  which  to  him,  the  philosopher,  the  man  of 
Abstract  Thought,  was  as  refreshing  as  a  pious 
reflection  would  be  to  a  man  of  Religion.  He  had 
once  been  somewhat  shaken  by  the  dicta  of  the 
modern  philosophers  who  relegate  human  love  to 
the  plane  of  an  illness  or  an  appetite.  But  where 
was  the  physical  difference  between  the  woman  he 
so  passionately  loved  and  the  one  for  whom  he  had 
never  felt  more  than  affection  and  pity?  If  from 
the  strange  adventure  of  his  marriage  he  had  lost 
some  certainties  concerning  the  human  soul,  he 
had  gained  the  certainty  that  Love  at  least  apper 
tains  to  it. 

One  hot  afternoon  Milly  was  writing  her  Austra 
lian  letter  under  a  spreading  ilex-tree  on  the  lawn. 
Lady  Thomson  and  Ian  were  sitting  there  also ;  he 
reading  the  latest  French  novel,  she  making  notes 
for  a  speech  she  had  to  deliver  shortly  at  the  open 
ing  of  a  Girls'  High  School. 

It  is  sometimes  difficult  to  find  the  right  news  for 
199 


THE    INVADER 

people  who  have  been  for  some  years  out  of  Eng 
land,  and  Milly,  in  the  languor  of  her  melancholy, 
had  relaxed  the  excellent  habit  formed  under  Aunt 
Beatrice  of  always  keeping  her  mind  to  the  subject 
in  hand.  She  sat  at  the  table  with  one  hand  prop 
ping  her  chin,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  bright  flower 
beds  on  the  lawTn  and  the  big,  square,  homely  house, 
brightened  by  its  striped  awnings.  At  length  Aunt 
Beatrice  looked  up  from  her  notes. 

"Mooning,  Milly!"  she  exclaimed,  in  her  full, 
agreeable  voice.  "  Now  I  suppose  you  '11  be  telling 
your  father  you  havn't  time  to  write  him  a  long 
letter." 

"Milly's  not  mooning;  she's  making  notes,  like 
you,"  Ian  replied,  for  his  wife. 

Milly  looked  around  at  him  in  surprise,  and  then 
at  her  right  hand.  It  held  a  stylograph  and  had 
been  resting  on  some  scattered  sheets  of  foolscap 
that  Ian  had  left  there  in  the  morning.  She  had 
certainly  been  scrawling  on  it  a  little,  but  she  was 
not  aware  of  having  written  anything.  Yet  the 
scrawl,  partly  on  one  sheet  and  partly  on  another, 
was  writing,  very  bad  and  broken,  but  still  with  a 
resemblance  to  her  own  handwriting.  She  pored 
over  it;  then  looked  Ian  in  the  eyes,  her  own  eyes 
large  with  a  bewilderment  touched  with  fear. 

"  I — I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  she  said,  in  a 
low,  anxious  tone. 

"  What's  that  ?"  queried  Aunt  Beatrice.  "  Can't 
read  what  you've  written  ?  You  remind  me  of  our 
old  writing-master  at  school,  who  used  to  say  tragi 
cally  that  he  couldn't  understand  how  it  was  that 

20Q 


THE    INVADER 

when  that  happened  to  a  man  he  didn't  just  take  a 
gun  and  shoot  himself.  I  recommend  you  the  pond, 
Mildred.  It's  more  feminine." 

"Please  don't  talk  to  Milly  like  that,"  retorted 
Ian,  not  quite  lightly.  "She  always  follows  your 
advice,  you  know.  It — it's  only  scrabbles." 

He  had  left  his  chair  and  was  leaning  over  the 
table,  completely  puzzled,  first  by  Milly's  terrified 
expression,  then  by  what  she  had  written,  illegibly 
enough,  across  the  two  sheets  of  foolscap.  He 
made  out:  "  You  are  only  miserab  .  .  ." — the  words 
were  interspersed  with  really  illegible  scrawls — 
"...  Go  ...  go  ...  Let  me  ...  I  want  to  live, 
I  want  to  ...  Mild  .  .  ." 

Milly  now  wrote  in  her  usual  clear  hand :  "  Who 
wrote  that  ?" 

He  scribbled  with  his  pencil:  "You." 

She  replied  in  writing:  "No.  I  know  nothing 
about  it." 

Lady  Thomson  had  taken  up  the  newspaper,  a 
thing  she  never  did  except  at  odd  minutes,  although 
she  contrived  to  read  everything  in  it  that  was  really 
worth  reading.  Folding  it  up  and  looking  at  her 
watch,  she  exclaimed: 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  carriage  is 
round!  Now  don't  go  dawdling  there,  young  peo 
ple,  and  keep  it  standing  in  the  sun." 

Milly  stood  up  and  gathered  her  writing-materials 
together.  Aunt  Beatrice's  tall  figure,  its  stalwart 
handsomeness  disguised  in  uncouth  garments,  pass 
ed  with  its  usual  vigorous  gait  across  the  burning 
sunlight  on  the  lawn  and  broad  gravel  walk,  to 

201 


THE    INVADER 

disappear  under  the  awning  of  a  French  window. 
Milly,  very  pale,  had  closed  her  eyes  and  her  hands 
were  clasped.  She  trembled,  but  her  voice  and  ex 
pression  were  calm  and  even  resolute. 

"  The  evil  spirit  is  trying  to  get  possession  of  me 
in  another  way  now,"  she  said.  "  But  with  God's 
help  I  shall  be  able  to  resist  it." 

Ian  too  was  pale  and  disturbed.  It  was  to  him 
as  though  he  had  suddenly  heard  a  beloved  voice 
calling  faintly  for  help. 

"It's  only  automatic  writing,  dear,"  he  replied. 
"You  may  not  have  been  aware  you  were  writ 
ing,  but  it  probably  reflects  something  in  your 
thoughts." 

"It  does  not,"  returned  she,  firmly.  "However 
miserable  I  may  sometimes  be,  I  could  never  wish 
to  give  up  a  moment  of  my  life  with  you,  my  own 
husband,  or  to  leave  you  and  our  child  to  the  influ 
ence  of  this — this  being." 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him. 

"Please  hold  me,  Ian,  and  will  as  I  do,  that  I 
may  resist  this  horrible  invasion.  I  have  a  feeling 
that  you  can  help  me." 

He  hesitated.  "I,  darling?  But  I  don't  be 
lieve—" 

She  approached  him,  and  took  hold  of  him  urgent 
ly,  looking  him  in  the  eyes. 

"Won't  you  do  it,  husband  dear?  Please,  for 
my  sake,  even  if  you  don't  believe,  promise  you'll 
will  to  keep  me  here.  Will  it,  with  all  your  might!" 

What  madness  it  was,  this  fantastic  scene  upon 
the  well-kept  lawn,  under  the  square  windows  of 

202 


THE    INVADER 

the  sober,  opulent  North  Country  house !  And  the 
maddest  part  of  it  all  was  the  horrible  reluctance 
he  felt  to  comply  with  his  wife's  wish.  He  seemed 
to  himself  to  pause  noticeably  before  answering  her 
with  a  meaningless  half -laugh : 

"Of  course  I'll  promise  anything  you  like,  dear." 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  rested  his  face 
upon  her  golden  head. 

"Will!"  she  whispered,  and  the  voice  was  one  of 
command  rather  than  of  appeal.  "  Will !  You  have 
promised." 

He  willed  as  she  commanded  him. 

The  triple  madness  of  it!  He  did  not  believe — 
and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  being  he  loved 
best  in  all  the  world  was  struggling  up  from  below, 
calling  to  him  for  help  from  her  tomb ;  and  he  was 
helping  her  enemy  to  hold  down  the  sepulchral 
stone  above  her.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  brow,  and 
the  sweat  stood  upon  it. 

Aunt  Beatrice's  masculine  foot  crunched  the 
gravel.  She  stood  there  dressed  and  ready  for  the 
drive,  beckoning  them  with  her  parasol.  They  came 
across  the  lawn  holding  each  other  by  the  hand, 
and  Milly's  face  was  calm,  even  happy.  Aunt 
Beatrice  smiled  at  them  broadly  with  her  large, 
handsome  mouth  and  bright  brown  eyes. 

"What,  not  had  enough  of  spooning  yet,  you 
foolish  young  people!  The  carriage  will  be  round 
in  one  minute,  and  Milly  won't  be  ready." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

'"THERE  is  a  joy  in  the  return  of  every  season, 
1  though  the  return  of  spring  is  felt  and  celebrat 
ed  beyond  the  rest.  The  gay  flame  dancing  on  the 
hearth  where  lately  all  was  blackness,  the  sense  of 
immunity  from  the  "wrongs  and  arrows"  of  the 
skies  and  their  confederate  earth,  the  concentration 
of  the  sense  upon  the  intimate  charms  which  four 
walls  can  contain,  bring  to  civilized  man  consola 
tion  for  the  loss  of  summer's  lavish  warmth  and 
beauty.  Children  are  always  sensible  of  these 
opening  festivals  of  the  seasons,  but  many  mature 
people  enjoy  without  realizing  them. 

To  Mildred  the  world  was  again  new,  and  she 
looked  upon  its  most  familiar  objects  with  the  de 
lighted  eyes  of  a  traveller  returning  to  a  favorite 
foreign  country.  So  she  did  not  complain  because 
when  she  had  left  the  earth  it  had  been  hurrying 
towards  the  height  of  June,  and  she  had  returned 
to  find  the  golden  boughs  of  October  already 
stripped  by  devastating  winds.  The  flames  leaped 
merrily  under  the  great  carved  mantel-piece  in  her 
white-panelled  drawing-room,  showing  the  date 
1 66 1,  and  the  initials  of  the  man  who  had  put  it 
there,  and  on  its  narrow  shelf  a  row  of  Chelsea 
figures  which  she  had  picked  up  in  various  corners 

204 


THE    INVADER 

of  Oxford.  The  chintz  curtains  were  drawn  around 
the  bay-window  and  a  bright  brass  scaldino  stood 
in  it,  rilled  with  the  yellows  and  red-browns,  the 
silvery  pinks  and  mauves  of  chrysanthemums. 
The  ancient  charm,  the  delicate  harmony  of  the 
room,  in  which  every  piece  of  furniture,  every  pict 
ure,  every  ornament,  had  been  chosen  with  an  ex 
actness  of  taste  seldom  found  in  the  young,  made 
it  more  pleasurable  to  a  cultivated  eye  than  the 
gilded  show  drawing-rooms  into  which  wealth  too 
commonly  crowds  a  medley  of  incongruous  treas 
ures  and  costly  nullities. 

It  was  a  free  evening  for  Ian,  and  as  it  was  but 
the  second  since  the  Desire  of  his  Eyes  had  re 
turned  to  him,  his  gaze  followed  her  movements 
in  a  contented  silence,  as  she  wandered  about  the 
room  in  her  slight  grace,  the  whiteness  of  her  skin 
showing  through  the  transparency  of  a  black  dress, 
which,  although  it  was  old,  Milly  would  have  thought 
unsuitable  for  a  domestic  evening.  When  every 
thing  was  just  where  it  should  be,  she  returned 
to  the  fire  and  sank  into  a  chair  thoughtfully. 

"How  I  should  like  some  rides,"  she  said;  "but 
I  suppose  I  can't  have  them,  not  unless  Maxwell 
Davison's  still  in  Oxford." 

lan's  face  clouded. 

"He's  not,"  he  returned,  shortly;  and  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  hesitating  as  to  how  he 
should  put  what  he  had  to  say  about  Maxwell 
Davison. 

Mildred  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes  and  leaned 
back  in  her  chair.  Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken 

205 


THE  INVADER 

by  a  burst  of  rippling  laughter.  Ian  started;  his 
own  thoughts  had  not  been  so  diverting. 

"What's  the  joke,  Mildred?" 

"Oh,  Ian,  don't  you  know?  Max  made  love  to 
Milly  and  she — she  bit  him!  Wasn't  it  frightfully 
funny?"  She  laughed  again,  with  a  more  inward 
enjoyment. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  bit  him,  although  he  richly 
deserved  it ;  but  of  course  I  knew  he  made  love  to 
you.  How  do  you  know?" 

"It  came  to  me  just  now  in  a  sort  of  flash.  I 
seemed  to  see  him — to  see  her,  floundering  out  of 
the  canoe;  and  both  of  them  in  such  a  towering 
rage.  It  really  was  too  funny." 

lan's  face  hardened. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  see  the  joke  of  a  man  making 
love  to  my  wife." 

"You  old  stupid!  He'd  never  have  dared  to 
behave  like  that  to  me;  but  Milly 's  such  an  ass." 

"Milly  was  frightened,  shocked,  as  any  decent 
woman  would  be  to  whom  such  a  thing  happened. 
She  certainly  didn't  encourage  Maxwell;  but  she 
found  an  appointment  already  made  for  her  to  go 
on  the  river  with  him.  No  doubt  she  took  an  ex 
aggerated  view  of  her — of  your — good  God,  Mil 
dred,  what  am  I  to  say? — well,  of  your  relations 
with  him." 

Mildred  had  closed  her  eyes.  A  strange  knowl 
edge  of  things  that  had  passed  during  her  sup 
pression  was  coming  to  her  in  glimpses. 

"I  know,"  she  returned,  in  a  kind  of  wonder 
at  her  own  knowledge.  "Absurd!  But  Max  did 

206 


THE    INVADER 

behave  abominably.  I  couldn't  have  believed  it 
of  him,  even  with  that  silly  little  baa-lamb.  Of 
course  she  couldn't  manage  him.  She  won't  be 
able  to  manage  Tony  long." 

"  Please  don't  speak  of — of  your  other  self  in  that 
way,  Mildred.  You're  very  innocent  of  the  world 
in  both  your  selves,  and  you  must  have  been  in 
discreet  or  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  Max 
well  to  make  love  to  you." 

Ian  was  actually  frowning,  his  lips  were  tight 
and  hard,  the  clear  pallor  of  his  cheek  faintly 
streaked  with  red.  Mildred,  leaning  forward,  look 
ed  at  him,  interested,  her  round  chin  on  her  hands. 

"Are  you  angry,  Ian?  I  really  believe  you  are. 
Is  it  with  me?" 

"No,  not  with  you.  But  of  course  I'm  angry 
when  I  think  of  a  fellow  like  that,  my  own  cousin, 
a  man  who  has  been  a  guest  in  my  house  over  and 
over  again,  being  cad  enough  to  make  love  to  my 
wife." 

Mildred  was  smiling  quietly  to  herself. 

"How  primitive  you  are,  Ian!"  she  said.  "I 
suppose  men  are  primitive  when  they're  angry. 
I  don't  mind,  but  it  does  seem  funny  you  should 
be." 

He  looked  at  her,  surprised. 

' '  Primitive  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"What  difference  does  it  make,  Max  being  your 
cousin,  you  silly  old  boy  ?  You'd  hardly  ever  seen 
him  till  last  winter.  Clans  aren't  any  use  to  us 
now,  are  they  ?  And  when  a  man's  got  a  house  of 
his  own,  as  Max  had,  or  even  a  hotel,  why  should 

207 


THE    INVADER 

he  be  so  grateful  as  all  that  for  a  few  decent  meals  ? 
He's  not  in  the  desert,  depending  on  you  for  food 
and  protection.  Anyhow,  it  seems  curious  to  ex 
pect  him  to  weigh  little  things  like  that  in  the 
balance  against  what  is  always  said  to  be  such 
a  very  strong  feeling  as  a  man's  love  for  a 
woman." 

Men  often  deplore  that  they  have  failed  in  their 
attempts  fundamentally  to  civilize  Woman.  They 
would  use  stronger  language  if  Woman  often  made 
attempts  fundamentally  to  civilize  them. 

"  Please  don't  look  at  me  like  that,"  Mildred  said, 
tremulously,  after  a  pause.  And  the  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes. 

lan's  face  softened,  as  leaning  against  the  tall 
white  mantel-piece  he  looked  down  and  met  the 
tear-bright  gaze  of  his  beloved. 

"  Poor  sweetheart !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You're  just 
a  child  for  all  your  cleverness,  and  you  don't  half 
understand  what  you're  talking  about.  But  listen 
to  me — "  He  kneeled  before  her,  bringing  their 
heads  almost  on  a  level.  "  I  won't  have  any  more 
affairs  like  this  of  Maxwell's.  I  dare  say  it  was  as 
much  my  fault  as  yours,  but  it  mustn't  happen 
again." 

She  dabbed  away  two  tears  that  hung  on  her 
eyelashes,  and  looked  at  him  with  such  a  bright 
alluring  yet  elusive  smile  as  might  have  flitted 
across  the  face  of  Ariel. 

"How  can  I  help  it  if  Milly  flirts?  I  don't  be 
lieve  I  can  help  it  if  I  do  myself.  But  I  can  tell 
you  this,  Ian — yes,  really—  Her  soft  white  arms 

208 


THE    INVADER 

went  about  his^eck.  "I've  never  seen  a  man  yet 
who  was  a  patch  upon  you  for  cleverness  and  hand 
someness  and  goodness  and  altogetherness.  No! 
You  really  are  the  very  nicest  man  I  ever  saw!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN  spite  of  the  deepening  dislike  between  the  two 
egos  which  struggled  for  the  possession  of  Mil 
dred  Stewart's  bodily  personality,  they  had  a  com 
mon  interest  in  disguising  the  fact  of  their  dual 
existence.  Yet  the  transformation  never  occurred 
without  producing  its  little  harvest  of  inconveni 
ences,  and  the  difficulty  of  disguising  the  difference 
between  the  two  was  the  greater  because  of  the 
number  of  old  acquaintances  and  friends  of  Milly 
Flaxman  living  in  Oxford. 

This  was  one  reason  why,  when  Ian  was  offered 
the  headship  of  the  Merchants'  Guild  College  in 
London,  Mildred  encouraged  him  to  take  it.  The 
income,  too,  seemed  large  in  comparison  to  their 
Oxford  one;  and  the  great  capital,  with  its  ever- 
roaring  surge  of  life,  drew  her  with  a  natural 
magnetism.  The  old  Foundation  was  being  recon 
structed,  and  was  ambitious  of  adorning  itself  with 
a  name  so  distinguished  as  Ian  Stewart's,  while  at 
the  same  time  obtaining  the  services  of  a  man  with 
so  many  of  his  best  years  still  before  him.  Stewart, 
although  he  could  do  fairly  well  in  practical  ad 
ministration,  if  he  gave  his  mind  to  it,  had  won 
distinction  as  a  student  and  man  of  letters,  and 
feared  that,  difficult  as  it  was  to  combine  the  real 

2IO 


THE    INVADER 

work  of  his  life  with  bread-and-butter-making  in 
Oxford,  it  would  be  still  more  difficult  to  combine 
it  with  steering  the  ship  of  the  Merchants'  Guild 
College.  But  he  had  the  sensitive  man's  defect  of 
too  often  deferring  to  the  judgment  of  others,  less 
informed  or  less  judicious  than  himself.  He  found 
it  impossible  to  believe  that  the  opinion  of  the 
Master  of  Durham  was  not  better  than  his  own; 
and  his  old  friend  and  tutor  was  strongly  in  favor 
of  his  accepting  the  headship.  His  most  really 
happy  and  successful  years  had  been  those  later 
ones  in  which  he  had  shone  as  the  Head  of  the  most 
brilliant  College  in  Oxford,  a  man  of  affairs  and,  in 
his  individual  way,  a  social  centre.  Accordingly 
he  found  it  impossible  to  believe  that  it  might  be 
otherwise  with  Ian  Stewart.  The  majority  of  lan's 
most  trusted  advisers  were  of  the  same  opinion  as 
the  Master,  since  the  number  of  persons  who  can 
understand  the  conditions  necessary  to  the  pro 
ductiveness  of  exceptional  and  creative  minds  is 
always  few.  Besides,  most  people  at  bottom  are 
in  Martha's  attitude  of  scepticism  towards  the  im 
material  service  of  the  world. 

Lady  Thomson  voiced  the  general  opinion  in  de 
claring  that  a  man  could  always  find  time  to  do 
good  work  if  he  really  wanted  to  do  it.  She  rejoiced 
when  Ian  put  aside  the  serious  doubts  which  beset 
him  and  accepted  the  London  offer.  Mildred  also 
rejoiced,  although  she  regretted  much  that  she  must 
leave  behind  her,  and  in  particular  the  old  panelled 
house. 

This   was,   however,   the   one   part    of   Oxford 

211 


THE    INVADER 

that  Milly  did  not  grieve  to  have  lost,  when  she 
awoke  once  more  from  long  months  of  sleep,  to  find 
herself  in  a  new  home.  For  she  had  grown  to  be 
silently  afraid  of  the  old  house,  with  the  great 
chimney-stacks  like  hollowed  towers  within  it, 
made,  it  seemed,  for  the  wind  to  moan  in ;  its  deep 
embrasures  and  panelling,  that  harbored  inexpli 
cable  sounds;  its  ancient  boards  that  creaked  all 
night  as  if  with  the  tread  of  mysterious  feet.  Awake 
in  the  dark  hours,  she  fancied  there  were  really 
footsteps,  really  knockings,  movements,  faint  sighs 
passing  outside  her  door,  and  that  some  old  wicked 
life  which  should  long  since  have  passed  away 
through  the  portals  of  the  grave,  clung  to  those 
ancient  walls  with  a  horrible  tenacity,  still  refusing 
the  great  renunciation  of  death. 

It  was  true  that  in  the  larger,  more  hurried  world 
of  London  it  was  easier  to  dissimulate  her  transfor 
mations  than  it  had  been  in  Oxford.  The  compara 
tive  retirement  in  which  Milly  lived  was  easily  ex 
plained  by  her  delicate  health.  It  seemed  as  though 
in  her  sojourns — which  more  and  more  encroached 
upon  those  of  the  original  personality — the  strong, 
intrusive  ego  consumed  in  an  unfair  degree  the 
vitality  of  their  common  body,  leaving  Milly  with  a 
certain  nervous  exhaustion,  a  languor  against  which 
she  struggled  with  a  pathetic  courage.  She  learned 
also  to  cover  with  a  seldom  broken  silence  the  deep 
wound  which  was  ever  draining  her  young  heart  of 
its  happiness;  and  for  that  very  reason  it  grew 
deeper  and  more  envenomed. 

That  Ian  should  love  her  evil  and  mysterious 

212 


THE    INVADER 

rival  as  though  they  two  were  really  one  was  hor 
rible  to  her.  Even  her  child  was  not  unreservedly 
her  own,  to  bring  up  according  to  her  own  ideas,  to 
love  without  fear  of  that  rival.  Tony  was  like  his 
father  in  the  sweetness  of  his  disposition,  as  well  as 
in  his  dark  beauty,  and  he  accented  with  surprising 
resignation  the  innumerable  rules  and  regulations 
which  Milly  set  about  his  path  and  about  his  bed. 
But  although  he  was  healthy,  his  nerves  were  highly 
strung,  and  it  seemed  as  though  her  feverish  anxiety 
for  his  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual  welfare  re 
acted  upon  him  and  made  him,  after  a  few  weeks  of 
her  influence,  less  vigorous  in  appearance,  less  gay 
and  boylike  than  he  was  during  her  absence.  Ian 
dared  not  hint  a  preference  for  the  animal  spirits 
that  Mildred  encouraged,  with  their  attendant  noise 
and  nonsense,  considered  by  Milly  so  undesirable. 
But  one  day  Tims  observed,  cryptically,  that  "A 
watched  boy  never  boils";  and  Emma,  the  nurse, 
told  Mrs.  Stewart  bluntly  that  she  thought  Master 
Tony  wasn't  near  so  well  and  bright  when  he  was 
always  being  looked  after,  as  he  was  when  he  was 
let  go  his  own  way  a  bit,  like  other  children.  Then 
a  miserable  fear  beset  Milly  lest  the  boy,  too,  should 
notice  the  change  in  his  mother ;  lest  he  should  look 
forward  to  the  disappearance  of  the  woman  who 
loved  him  so  passionately,  watched  over  him  with 
such  complete  devotion,  and  in  his  silent  heart  re 
gret,  invoke,  that  other.  It  was  at  once  soothing 
and  bitter  to  her  to  be  assured  by  Ian  and  by  Tims 
that  they  had  never  been  able  to  discover  the 
least  sign  that  Tony  was  aware  when  the  change 

213 


THE    INVADER 

occurred   between    the    two    personalities   of   his 
mother. 

Two  years  passed  in  London,  two  years  out  of 
which  the  original  owner  enjoyed  a  total  share  of 
only  nine  months;  and  this,  indeed,  she  could  not 
truly  have  been  said  to  have  enjoyed,  since  happi 
ness  was  far  from  her.  Death  would  have  been  a 
sad  but  simple  catastrophe,  to  be  met  with  resigna 
tion  to  the  will  of  God.  What  resignation  could  be 
felt  before  this  gradual  strangulation  of  her  being 
at  the  hands  of  a  nameless  yet  surely  Evil  Thing  ? 
Her  love  for  Ian  was  so  great  that  his  sufferings 
were  more  to  her  than  her  own,  and  in  the  space  of 
those  two  years  she  saw  that  on  him,  too,  sorrow 
had  set  its  mark.  The  glow  of  his  good  looks  and 
the  brilliancy  of  his  mind  were  alike  dulled.  It  was 
not  only  that  his  shoulders  were  bent,  his  hair 
thinned  and  touched  with  gray,  but  his  whole  ap 
pearance,  once  so  individual,  was  growing  merely 
typical;  that  of  the  middle-aged  Academic,  ab 
sorbed  in  the  cares  of  his  profession.  His  real  work 
was  not  merely  at  a  stand-still,  but  a  few  more  such 
years  and  his  capacity  for  it  would  be  destroyed. 
She  felt  this  vaguely,  with  the  intuition  of  love. 
If  the  partnership  had  been  only  between  him  and 
her,  he  surely  would  have  yielded  to  her  prayer  to 
give  up  the  headship  of  the  Merchants'  Guild  Col 
lege  after  a  set  term;  but  he  put  the  question  by. 
Evidently  that  Other,  who  cared  for  nothing  but 
her  own  selfish  interests  and  amusements,  who  spent 
upon  them  the  money  that  he  ought  to  be  saving, 
would  never  allow  him  to  give  up  his  appointment 

214 


THE    INVADER 

unless  something  better  offered.  It  was  not  only 
her  own  life,  it  was  the  higher  and  happier  part  of 
his  that  she  was  struggling  to  save  in  those  des 
perate  hours  when  she  sought  around  her  for  some 
weapon  wherewith  to  fight  that  mortal  foe.  She 
turned  to  priests,  Anglican,  Roman  Catholic;  but 
they  failed  her.  Both  believed  her  to  be  suffering 
under  an  insane  delusion,  but  the  Roman  Catholic 
priest  would  have  attempted  to  exorcise  the  evil 
spirit  if  she  would  have  joined  his  Communion. 
She  was  too  honest  to  pretend  to  a  belief  that  was 
not  hers. 

When  she  returned  from  her  last  vain  pilgrimage 
to  the  Church  of  the  Sacred  Heart  and  stood  before 
the  glass,  removing  a  thick  black  veil  from  the  pale 
despair  of  her  face,  she  was  suddenly  aware  of  a 
strange,  unfamiliar  smile  lifting  the  drooped  lines 
of  her  lips — an  elfish  smile  which  transformed  her 
face  to  something  different  from  her  own.  And 
immediately  those  smiling  lips  uttered  words  that 
fell  as  unexpectedly  on  her  ears  as  though  they  had 
proceeded  from  the  mouth  of  another  person. 

"  Never  mind,"  they  said,  briskly.  "  It  wouldn't 
have  been  of  the  least  use." 

For  a  minute  a  wild  terror  made  her  brain  swim 
and  she  fled  to  the  door,  instinctively  seeking  pro 
tection  ;  but  she  stayed  herself,  remembering  that 
Ian,  who  was  sleeping  badly  at  night,  was  now 
asleep  in  his  study.  Weak  and  timid  though  she 
was,  she  would  lay  no  fresh  burden  on  him,  but 
fight  her  battle,  if  battle  there  was  to  be,  alone. 

She  walked  back  deliberately  to  the  glass  and 
215 


THE    INVADER 

looked  steadily  at  her  own  reflection.  Her  brows 
were  frowning,  her  eyes  stern  as  she  had  never  be 
fore  seen  them,  but  they  were  assuredly  hers, 
answering  to  the  mood  of  her  own  mind.  Her  lips 
were  cold,  and  trembled  so  that  although  she 
had  meant  solemnly  to  defy  the  Power  of  Evil 
within  her  she  was  unable  to  articulate.  As  she 
looked  in  the  glass  and  saw  herself — her  real  self — 
so  evidently  there,  the  strange  smile,  the  speech 
divorced  from  all  volition  of  hers  which  had  crossed 
her  lips,  began  to  lose  reality.  Still  her  lips  trem 
bled,  and  at  length  a  convulsion  shook  them  as 
irresistible  as  that  of  a  sob.  Words  broke  stam- 
meringly  out  which  were  not  hers : 

"Struggle  for  life  —  the  stronger  wins.  I'm 
stronger.  It's  no  use  struggling — no  use — no  use 
— no  use!" 

Milly  pressed  her  lips  hard  against  her  teeth  with 
her  hands,  stopping  this  utterance  by  main  force. 
Her  heart  hammered  so  loud  it  seemed  as  though 
some  one  must  hear  it  and  come  to  ask  what  was 
the  matter.  But  no  one  came.  She  was  left  alone 
with  the  Thing  within  her. 

It  may  have  been  a  long  while,  it  may  have  been 
only  a  few  seconds  that  she  remained  standing  at 
her  dressing-table,  her  hands  pressed  hard  against 
her  convulsed  mouth.  She  had  closed  her  eyes, 
afraid  to  look  longer  in  the  glass,  lest  something 
uncanny  should  peer  out  of  it.  She  did  not  pray — 
she  had  prayed  so  often  before — but  she  fought  with 
her  whole  strength  against  the  encroaching  power 
of  the  Other.  At  length  she  gradually  released  her 

216 


THE    INVADER 

lips.  They  were  bruised,  but  they  had  ceased  to 
move.  It  was  she  herself  who  spoke,  low  but  clear 
ly  and  with  deliberation : 

"  I  shall  struggle.  I  shall  never  give  in.  You 
think  you're  the  stronger.  I  won't  let  you  be. 
I'm  fighting  for  my  husband's  happiness — do  you 
hear  ? — as  well  as  my  own.  You're  strong,  but  we 
shall  be  stronger,  he  and  I,  in  the  end." 

There  was  no  answer,  the  sense  of  struggle  was 
gone  from  her;  and  suddenly  she  felt  how  mad  it 
was  to  be  talking  to  herself  like  that  in  an  empty 
room.  She  took  off  the  little  black  toque  which 
sat  on  her  bright  head  with  an  alien  smartness  to 
which  she  was  now  accustomed,  and  forced  herself 
to  look  in  the  glass  while  she  pinned  up  a  stray  lock 
of  hair.  Beyond  an  increased  pallor  and  darker 
marks  under  her  eyes,  she  saw  nothing  unusual  in 
her  appearance. 

It  was  five  o'clock,  and  Ian  would  probably  be 
awake  and  wanting  his  tea.  She  went  softly  into 
the  study  and  leaned  over  him.  Sleep  had  almost 
smoothed  away  the  lines  of  effort  and  worry  which 
had  marred  the  beauty  of  his  face ;  in  the  eyes  of 
her  love  he  was  always  the  same  handsome  Ian 
Stewart  as  in  the  old  Oxford  days,  when  he  had 
seemed  as  a  young  god,  so  high  above  her  reach. 

She  went  to  an  oak  table  behind  the  sofa,  on 
which  the  maid  had  set  the  tea-things  without 
awakening  him,  and  sat  there  quietly  watching  the 
kettle.  The  early  London  twilight  began  to  veil 
the  room.  Ian  stirred  on  the  sofa  and  sat  up,  with 
his  back  to  her,  unconscious  of  her  presence.  She 

217 


THE    INVADER 

rose,  vaguely  supposing  herself  about  to  address 
some  gentle  word  to  him.  Then  suddenly  she  had 
thrown  one  soft  hand  under  his  chin  and  one  across 
his  eyes,  and  with  a  brusquerie  quite  unnatural  to 
her  pulled  him  backwards,  while  a  ripple  of  laugh 
ter  so  strange  as  to  be  shocking  in  her  own  ears 
burst  from  her  lips,  which  cried  aloud  with  a  defi 
ant  gayety: 

"Who,  Ian?     Guess!" 

Ian,  with  a  sudden  force  as  strange  to  her  as  her 
own  laughter,  her  own  gay  cry,  pulled  her  hands 
away,  held  them  an  instant  fast ;  then,  kneeling  on 
the  sofa,  he  caught  her  in  his  long  arms  across  the 
back  of  it,  and  after  the  pressure  of  a  kiss  upon 
her  lips  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before,  breathed 
with  a  voice  of  unutterable  gladness:  "Mildred! 
Darling!  Dearest  love!" 

A  hoarse  cry,  almost  a  shriek,  broke  from  the 
lips  of  Milly.  The  woman  he  held  struggled  from 
his  arms  and  stared  at  him  wildly  in  the  veiling 
twilight.  A  strange  horror  fell  upon  him,  and  for 
several  seconds  he  remained  motionless,  leaning 
over  the  back  of  the  sofa.  Then,  groping  towards 
the  wall,  he  switched  on  the  electric  light.  He  saw 
it  plainly,  the  white  mask  of  a  woman  smitten  with 
a  mortal  blow. 

' '  Milly, ' '  he  uttered ,  stammeringly .  ' '  What 's  the 
matter  ?  You  are  ill. ' ' 

She  turned  on  him  her  heart-broken  look,  then 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  throat,  spoke  as  though 
with  difficulty. 

"I  love  you  very  much — you  don't  know  how 
218 


THE    INVADER 

much  I  love  you.  I've  tried  so  hard  to  be  a  good 
wife  to  you." 

Ian  perceived  catastrophe,  yet  dimly;  sought 
with  desperate  haste  to  remember  why  for  a  mo 
ment  he  had  believed  that  that  Other  was  come 
back;  what  irreparable  thing  he  had  said  or 
done. 

Meantime  he  must  say  something.  "  Milly,  dear ! 
What's  gone  wrong?  What  have  I  done,  child?" 

"You've  let  her  take  you — "  She  spoke  more 
freely  now,  but  with  a  startling  fierceness — "  You've 
let  her  take  you  from  me." 

"Ah,  the  old  trouble!  My  poor  Milly!  I  know 
it's  terrible  for  you.  I  can  only  say  that  no  one 
else  really  exists;  that  you  are  always  you  really." 

"That's  not  true.  You  don't  believe  it  yourself. 
That  wicked  creature  has  made  you  love  her — her 
own  wicked  way.  You  want  to  have  her  instead  of 
me ;  you  want  to  destroy  your  own  wife  and  to  get 
her  back  again." 

The  cruel,  ultimate  truth  that  Milly 's  words  laid 
bare — the  truth  which  he  constantly  refused  to  look 
upon,  in  mercy  to  himself  and  her — paralyzed  the 
husband's  tongue.  He  tried  to  approach  her  with 
vague  words  and  gestures  of  affection  and  remon 
strance,  but  she  motioned  him  from  her. 

"  No.  Don't  say  you  love  me ;  I  can't  believe  it, 
and  I  hate  to  hear  you  say  what's  not  true." 

For  a  moment  the  fierce  heart  of  Primitive  Woman 
had  blazed  up  within  her — that  fire  which  all  the 
waters  of  baptism  fail  to  quench.  But  the  flame 
died  down  as  suddenly  as  it  had  arisen,  and  appeal- 

219 


THE    INVADER 

ing  with  outspread  hands,  as  to  some  invisible 
judge,  she  wailed,  miserably: 

"Oh,  what  am  I  to  do — what  am  I  to  do?  I 
love  you  so  much,  and  it's  all  no  use." 

Ian  was  as  white  as  herself. 

"Milly,  my  poor  girl,  don't  break  our  hearts." 

He  stretched  his  arms  towards  her,  but  she  turned 
away  from  him  towards  the  door,  made  a  few  steps, 
then  stopped  and  clutched  her  throat.  He  thought 
her  struggling  with  sobs;  but  when  once  more,  as 
though  in  fear,  she  turned  her  face  towards  him,  he 
saw  it  strangely  convulsed.  He  moved  towards 
her  in  an  alarmed  silence,  but  before  he  could  reach 
her  and  catch  her  in  his  arms,  her  head  drooped,  she 
swayed  once  upon  her  feet,  and  fell  heavily  to  the 
ground. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"N  TOW  be  reasonable  Tims.     You  can  be  if  you 

IN  choose." 

Mildred  was  perched  on  a  high  stool  in  Tims's 
Chambers,  breathing  spring  from  a  bunch  of  fresh 
Neapolitan  violets,  grown  by  an  elderly  admirer  of 
hers,  and  wearing  her  black,  winter  toque  and  dress 
with  that  invincible  air  of  smartness  which  she 
contrived  to  impart  to  the  oldest  clothes,  provided 
they  were  of  her  own  choosing.  Tims,  who  from 
her  face  and  attitude  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  victim  of  some  extreme  and  secret  torture, 
crouched,  balancing  herself  on  the  top  rail  of 
her  fender.  She  replied  only  by  a  horrible 
groan. 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  is  the  happier  when  Milly 
comes  back?"  continued  Mildred. 

"Well— the  brat." 

"Tony?  He  doesn't  even  know  when  she's 
there;  but  by  the  time  she's  done  with  him  he's 
unnaturally  good.  He  can't  like  that,  can  he?" 

"Then  there's  Ian,  good  old  boy!" 

"  That's  humbug.     You  know  it  is." 

"  But  it's  Milly  herself  I  really  care  about,"  cried 
Tims.  "  You've  been  a  pig  to  her,  Mil.  She  says 
you're  a  devil,  and  if  I  weren't  a  scientific  woman  I 

221 


THE    INVADER 

swear  I  should  begin  to  believe  there  was  some 
thing  in  it." 

"No,  Tims,  dear,"  returned  Mildred  with  earnest 
ness.  "I'm  neither  a  pig  nor  a  devil."  She  paused. 
"Sometimes  I  think  I've  lived  before,  some  quite 
different  life  from  this.  But  I  suppose  you'll  say 
that's  all  nonsense." 

"  Of  course  it  is — rot,"  commented  Tims,  sternly. 
"  You're  a  physiological  freak,  that's  what  you  are. 
You're  nothing  but  Milly  all  the  time,  and  you 
ought  to  be  decent  to  her." 

"I  don't  want  to  hurt  her  anyhow,"  apologized 
Mildred;  "but  you  see  when  I'm  only  half  there — 
well,  I  am  only  half  there.  I'm  awfully  rudimen 
tary  and  I  can't  grasp  anything  except  that  I'm 
being  choked,  squeezed  out  of  existence,  and  that 
I  must  make  a  fight  for  my  life.  Any  woman  be 
comes  rudimentary  who  is  fighting  for  her  life 
against  another  woman;  only  I've  more  excuse  for 
it,  because  as  a  scientist  you  must  see  that  I  can 
only  be  in  very  partial  possession  of  my  brain." 

Tims  had  pulled  her  wig  down  over  her  eyes  and 
glared  at  space.  "That's  all  very  well  for  you," 
she  said;  "but  why  should  I  help  you  to  kill  poor 
old  M.  ?" 

"  Do  try  and  understand !  Every  time  she  comes 
back  she's  more  and  more  miserable ;  and  that's  not 
cheerful  for  Ian  either,  is  it?  Now,  through  that 
underhand  trick  of  rudimentary  Me — you  see  I 
don't  try  to  hide  my  horrid  ways — she  knows  Ian 
adores  me  and,  comparatively  speaking,  doesn't 
care  two  straws  about  her.  That  will  make  her 

222 


THE    INVADER 

more  miserable  than  she  has  ever  been  before. 
She'll  only  want  to  live  so  that  I  mayn't." 

"I  don't  see  how  lan's  going  to  get  on  without 
her.  You  don't  do  much  for  him,  my  girl,  except 
spend  his  money." 

"Of  course,  that's  quite  true.  I'm  not  in  the 
least  suited  to  Ian  or  his  life  or  his  income;  but 
that's  not  my  fault.  How  perverse  men  are! 
Always  in  love  with  the  wrong  women,  aren't 
they?" 

Tims's  countenance  relaxed  and  she  replied  with 
a  slight  air  of  importance : 

"My  opinion  of  men  has  been  screwed  up  a  peg 
lately.  Every  now  and  then  you  do  find  one  who's 
got  too  much  sense  for  any  rot  of  that  kind." 

Mildred  continued. 

"lan's  perfectly  wretched  at  what  happened; 
can't  understand  it,  of  course.  He  doesn't  say 
much,  but  I  can  see  he  dreads  explanations  with 
Milly.  He's  good  at  reserve,  but  no  good  at  lies, 
poor  old  dear,  and  just  think  of  all  the  straight 
questions  she'll  ask  him!  It'll  be  torture  to  both 
of  them.  Poor  Milly!  I've  no  patience  with  her. 
Why  should  she  want  to  live?  Life's  no  pleasure 
to  her.  She's  known  a  long  time  that  Tony's 
really  jollier  and  better  with  me,  and  now  she  knows 
Ian  doesn't  want  her.  How  can  you  pretend  to 
think  Milly  happy,  Tims  ?  Hasn't  she  said  things 
to  you?" 

"Yes,"  groaned  Tims.  "Poor  old  M.!  She's 
pretty  well  down  on  her  luck,  you  bet." 

"  And  I  enjoy  every  minute  of  my  life,  although 
223 


THE    INVADER 

I  could  find  plenty  to  grumble  at  if  I  liked.  Listen 
to  me,  Tims.  How  would  it  be  to  strike  a  bargain  ? 
Let  me  go  on  without  any  upsets  from  Milly  until 
I'm  forty.  I'm  sure  I  sha'n't  care  what  happens 
to  me  at  forty.  Then  Milly  may  have  every 
thing  her  own  way.  What  would  it  matter  to  her  ? 
She  likes  to  take  time  by  the  forelock  and  behaves 
already  as  though  she  were  forty.  I  feel  sure  you 
could  help  me  to  keep  her  quiet  if  only  you 
chose." 

"If  I  chose  to  meddle  at  all,  I  should  be  much 
more  likely  to  help  her  to  come  back,"  returned 
Tims,  getting  snappish. 

"Alas!  I  fear  you  would,  Tims,  dear,  in  spite  of 
knowing  it  would  only  make  her  miserable.  That 
shows,  doesn't  it,  how  unreasonable  even  a  dis 
tinguished  scientific  woman  can  be?" 

This  aspersion  on  Tims's  reasoning  powers  had 
to  be  resented  and  the  resentment  to  be  soothed. 
And  the  soothing  was  so  effectually  done  that 
Tims  owned  to  herself  afterwards  there  was  some 
excuse  for  lan's  infatuation. 

But  Tims  had  no  desire  to  meddle,  and  the 
months  passed  by  without  any  symptoms  of  the 
change  appearing.  It  seemed  as  if  Mildred's  hold 
upon  life  had  never  been  so  firm,  the  power  of  her 
personality  never  so  fully  developed.  She  be 
longed  to  a  large  family  which  in  all  its  branches 
had  a  trick  of  throwing  up  successful  men  and 
brilliant  women.  But  in  reaction  against  Scottish 
clannishness,  it  held  little  together,  and  in  the  two 
houses  whence  Mildred  was  launched  on  her  Lon- 

224 


THE    INVADER 

don  career,  she  had  no  nursery  reputation  of  Milly's 
with  which  to  contend. 

One  of  these  houses  was  that  of  her  cousin,  Sir 
Cyril  Meres,  a  fashionable  painter  with  a  consider 
able  gift  for  art,  and  more  for  success — success  so 
cial  and  financial.  His  beautiful  house,  stored  with 
wonderful  collections,  had  a  reputation,  and  was 
frequented  by  every  one  of  distinction  in  the  artis 
tic  or  intellectual  world — by  those  of  the  world  of 
wealth  and  rank  who  were  interested  in  such  mat 
ters,  and  the  yet  larger  number  who  affected  to  be 
interested  in  them.  For  those  Anglo-Saxon  deities, 
Mammon  and  Snobbery,  who  have  since  conquered 
the  whole  civilized  globe,  had  temporarily  fallen 
back  for  a  fresh  spring,  and  in  the  eighties  and 
early  nineties  Culture  was  reckoned  very  nearly  as 
chic  as  motoring  in  the  first  years  of  the  new  century. 

Several  painters  of  various  degrees  of  talent  at 
tempted  to  fix  on  canvas  the  extraordinary  charm 
of  Mrs.  Stewart's  appearance.  Not  one  of  them 
succeeded;  but  the  peculiar  shade  of  her  hair,  the 
low  forehead  and  delicate  line  of  the  dark  eye 
brows,  the  outline  of  the  mask,  sometimes  admired, 
sometimes  criticised,  made  her  portrait  always 
recognized,  whether  simpering  as  a  chocolate-box 
classicality,  smiling  sadly  from  the  flowery  circle 
of  the  Purgatorio,  or  breaking  out  of  some  rough 
mass  of  paint  with  the  provocative  leer  of  a  cocotte 
of  the  Quartier  Latin. 

The  magnetism  of  her  personality  defied  analysis, 
as  her  essential  beauty  defied  the  painter's  art. 
It  was  a  magnetism  which  surrounded  her  with 
is  225 


THE    INVADER 

an  atmosphere  of  adorations,  admirations,  enmities 
— all  equally  violent  and  irrational.  Her  wit  had 
little  to  do  with  the  making  of  her  enemies,  because 
it  was  never  used  in  offence  against  friends  or  even 
harmless  acquaintances ;  only  against  her  foes  she 
employed  it  with  the  efficiency  and  mercilessness 
of  a  red  Indian  wielding  the  tomahawk. 

The  other  family  where  she  found  her  niche 
awaiting  her  was  of  a  different  order.  It  was  that 
of  the  retired  Indian  judge,  Sir  John  Ireton,  whose 
wife  had  chaperoned  her  through  a  Commemora 
tion  the  summer  she  had  taken  her  First  in  Greats. 
Ireton  was  not  only  in  Parliament,  but  his  house 
was  a  meeting  -  place  where  politicians  cemented 
personal  ties  and  plotted  party  moves.  Milly  in 
her  brief  appearances,  had  been  of  use  to  Lady 
Ireton,  but  Mildred  proved  socially  invaluable. 
There  were  serious  persons  who  suspected  Mrs. 
Stewart  of  approaching  politics  in  a  flippant  spirit ; 
but  on  certain  days  she  had  revealed  a  grave  and 
ardent  belief  in  the  dogmas  of  the  party  and  a 
piety  of  attitude  towards  the  person  of  its  great 
apostle,  which  had  convinced  them  that  she  was 
not  really  cynical  or  frivolous. 

Lady  Augusta  Goring  was  the  most  important 
conquest  of  the  kind  Milly  had  made.  She  was 
the  only  child  of  the  Marquis  of  Ipswich,  and  one 
of  those  rather  stupid  people  whose  energy  of  mind 
and  character  is  often  mistaken  by  themselves  and 
others  for  cleverness.  Lady  Augusta  was  hand 
some  in  a  dull,  massive  way,  and  so  conscientious 
that  she  had  seldom  time  to  smile.  Her  friends 

226 


THE    INVADER 

said  she  would  smile  oftener  if  her  husband  caused 
her  less  anxiety ;  but  considering  who  George  Gor 
ing  was  and  how  he  had  been  brought  up,  he  might 
have  been  much  worse.  Where  women  were  con 
cerned,  scandal  had  never  accused  him  of  anything 
more  flagrant  than  dubious  flirtations.  It  was  his 
political  intrigues,  constantly  threatening  unholy 
liaisons  in  the  most  unthinkable  directions;  his 
sudden  fits  of  obstinate  idleness,  often  occurring 
at  the  very  moment  when  some  clever  and  promis 
ing  political  scheme  of  his  own  was  ripe  for  execu 
tion,  which  so  unendurably  harassed  the  staid  Mar 
quis  and  the  earnest  Lady  Augusta.  They  were 
highly  irritating,  too,  to  Sir  John  Ireton,  who  had 
believed  himself  at  one  time  able  to  tame  and 
tutor  the  tricksy  young  politician. 

The  late  Lord  Ipswich  had  been  a  "sport"  in  the 
Barthop  family;  a  black  sheep,  but  clever,  and  a 
well  known  collector.  Accidental  circumstances  had 
greatly  enriched  him,  and  as  he  detested  his  brother 
and  successor,  he  had  left  his  pictures  to  the  nation 
and  all  of  his  fortune  which  he  could  dispose  of — 
which  happened  to  be  the  bulk — to  his  natural  son, 
George  Goring.  But  his  will  had  not  been  found  for 
some  weeks  after  his  death,  and  while  the  present 
Marquis  had  believed  himself  the  inheritor  of  the 
whole  property,  he  had  treated  the  nameless  and 
penniless  child  of  his  brother  with  perfect  delicacy 
and  generosity.  When  George  Goring  found  himself 
made  rich  at  the  expense  of  his  uncle,  he  proposed 
to  his  cousin  Lady  Augusta  and  was  accepted. 

Mildred  was  partly  amused  and  partly  bored  to 
227 


THE    INVADER 

discover  herself  on  so  friendly  a  footing  with  Lady 
Augusta.  Putting  herself  into  that  passive  frame 
of  mind  in  which  revelations  of  Milly's  past  actions 
were  most  often  vouchsafed  to  her,  she  saw  herself 
type-writing  in  a  small,  high-ceilinged  room  looking 
out  on  a  foggy  London  park,  and  Lady  Augusta 
seated  at  a  neighboring  table,  surrounded  by  papers. 
Type-writing  was  not  then  so  common  as  it  is  now, 
and  Milly  had  learned  the  art  in  order  to  give  assist 
ance  to  Ian.  Mildred  was  annoyed  to  find  herself  in 
danger  of  having  to  waste  her  time  in  a  mechanical 
occupation  which  she  detested,  or  else  of  offending 
a  woman  whom  her  uncle  valued  as  a  friend  and 
political  ally. 

It  was  a  slight  compensation  to  receive  an  invita 
tion  to  accompany  the  Iretons  to  a  great  ball  at 
Ipswich  House.  There  was  no  question  of  Ian  ac 
companying  her.  He  was  usually  too  tired  to  care 
for  going  out  in  the  evening  and  went  only  to  official 
dinners  and  to  the  houses  of  old  friends,  or  of  people 
with  whom  he  had  educational  connections.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  it  might  be  wise  to  put  a 
strain  upon  himself  sometimes,  to  lay  by  his  spec 
tacles,  straighten  his  back,  have  his  beard  trimmed 
and  appear  at  Mildred's  side  in  the  drawing-rooms 
where  she  shone,  looking  what  he  was — a  husband 
of  whom  she  had  reason  to  be  proud.  More  and 
more  engrossed  by  his  own  work  and  responsibili 
ties,  he  let  her  drift  into  a  life  quite  apart  from  his, 
content  to  see  her  world  from  his  own  fireside,  in 
the  sparkling  mirror  of  her  talk. 

Ipswich  House  was  a  great  house,  if  of  little 
228 


THE    INVADER 

architectural  merit,  and  the  ball  had  all  the  tradi 
tional  spectacular  splendor  common  to  such  fes 
tivities.  The  pillared  hall  and  double  staircase, 
the  suites  of  spacious  rooms,  were  filled  with  a 
glittering  kaleidoscopic  crowd  of  fair  and  magnifi 
cently  bejewelled  women  and  presumably  brave, 
certainly  well-groomed  and  handsome  men.  The 
excellence  of  the  music,  the  masses  of  flowers,  the 
number  of  great  names  and  well-advertised  society 
beauties  present,  would  subsequently  provide  ma 
terial  for  long  and  eulogistic  paragraphs  in  the  half 
penny  press  and  the  Ladies'  Weeklies. 

Mildred  enjoyed  it  as  a  spectacle  rather  than  as 
a  ball,  for  she  knew  few  people  there,  and  the 
young  political  men  whom  she  had  met  at  her 
uncle's  parties  were  too  much  engaged  with  ladies 
of  more  importance,  to  whom  they  were  related  or 
to  whom  they  owed  social  attention,  to  write  their 
names  more  than  once  on  her  programme.  One  of 
these,  however,  asked  her  if  she  had  noticed  how 
harassed  both  Lord  Ipswich  and  Lady  Augusta 
looked.  Goring's  speech,  he  said,  at  the  Pothering 
by-election  was  reported  and  commented  upon  in 
all  the  papers,  and  had  given  tremendous  offence 
to  the  leaders  of  his  party;  while  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  turned  up  in  time  for  the  ball  must  be  an 
additional  cross  to  his  wife,  who  made  such  a  firm 
stand  against  the  social  separation  of  married 
couples. 

When  Mildred  returned  to  her  uncle  she  found 
him  the  centre  of  a  group  of  eminent  politicians,  all 
denouncing  in  more  or  less  subdued  tones  the  out- 

229 


THE    INVADER 

rageous  utterances  and  conduct  of  Goring,  and  most 
declaring  that  only  consideration  for  Lord  Ipswich 
and  Lady  Augusta  prevented  them  from  publicly 
excommunicating  the  hardened  offender.  Others, 
however,  while  admitting  the  outrage,  urged  that 
he  was  too  brilliant  a  young  man  to  be  lightly 
thrown  away,  and  advised  patience,  combined 
with  the  disciplinary  rod.  Sir  John  was  of  the 
excornmunicatory  party.  Later  in  the  evening  he 
disappeared  into  some  remote  smoking  or  card- 
room,  not  so  much  forgetting  his  niece  as  taking  it 
for  granted  that  she  was,  as  usual,  surrounded  by 
friends  and  admirers  of  both  sexes.  But  a  de 
tached  personality,  however  brilliant,  is  apt  to  be 
submerged  in  such  a  crowd  of  social  eminences, 
bound  together  by  ties  of  blood,  of  interests,  and  of 
habit,  as  filled  the  salons  of  Ipswich  House.  Mil 
dred  walked  around  the  show  contentedly  enough 
for  a  time,  receiving  a  smile  here  and  a  pleasant 
word  there  from  such  of  her  acquaintances  as  she 
chanced  upon,  but  practically  alone.  And  being 
alone,  she  found  herself  yielding  to  a  vulgar  envy 
of  richer  women's  clothes  and  jewels.  Her  dress, 
with  which  she  had  been  pleased,  looked  ordinary 
beside  the  creations  of  great  Parisian  ateliers,  and 
the  few  old  paste  ornaments  which  were  the  only 
jewels  she  possessed,  charming  as  they  were,  seemed 
dim  and  scant  among  the  crowns  and  constellations 
of  diamonds  that  surrounded  her.  Her  pride  re 
belled  against  this  envy,  but  could  not  conquer  it. 
More  gnawing  pangs,  however,  assailed  her  pres 
ently,  the  pangs  of  hunger;  and  no  one  offered 

230 


THE   INVADER 

to  take  her  in  to  supper.  The  idea  of  taking  her 
self  in  was  revolting ;  she  preferred  starvation.  But 
where  could  Uncle  John  have  hidden  himself  ?  She 
sought  the  elderly  truant  with  all  the  suppressed 
annoyance  of  a  chaperon  seeking  an  inconsiderate 
flirt  of  a  girl.  And  it  happened  that  a  spirit  in  her 
feet  led  her  to  the  door  of  a  small  room  in  which 
Milly  and  Lady  Augusta  had  been  wont  to  transact 
their  business.  A  curious  feeling  of  familiarity,  of 
physical  habit,  caused  her  to  open  the  big  mahogany 
door.  There  was  no  air  of  public  festivity  about 
the  room,  which  was  furnished  with  a  substantial, 
almost  shabby  masculine  comfort.  But  oh,  tan 
talizing  spectacle!  Under  the  illumination  of  a 
tall,  crimson-shaded,  standard  lamp,  stood  a  little, 
white-covered  table,  reminding  her  irresistibly  of 
a  little  table  in  a  fairy  story,  which  the  due  in 
cantation  causes  to  rise  out  of  the  ground.  A  small 
silver-gilt  tureen  of  soup  smoked  upon  it  and  a  little 
pile  of  delicate  rolls  lay  beside  the  plate  set  for  one. 
But  alas!  she  might  not,  like  the  favored  girl  in 
the  fairy  story,  proceed  without  ceremony  to  sat 
isfy  her  hunger  at  the  mysterious  little  table. 

A  door  immediately  opposite  that  of  the  small 
sitting-room  opened  noiselessly,  and  a  young  man 
entered  with  a  light,  quick  step.  He  saw  Mildred, 
but  for  a  second  or  so  she  did  not  see  him.  He  was 
at  her  side  when  she  looked  around  and  their  eyes 
met.  They  had  never  seen  each  other  before,  but 
at  that  meeting  of  the  eyes  a  curious  feeling,  such  as 
two  Europeans  might  experience,  meeting  in  the 
heart  of  some  dark  continent,  affected  them  both. 

231 


THE   INVADER 

There  was  something  picturesque  about  the 
young  man's  appearance,  in  spite  of  the  impeccable 
cut  and  finish  of  his  dress-suit  and  the  waxed  ends 
of  his  small  blond  mustache.  His  hair  was  of  a 
ruddy  nut-brown  color,  and  had  a  wave  in  it;  his 
bright  hazel  eyes  seemed  exactly  to  match  it. 
His  face  had  a  fine  warm  pallor,  and  his  under  lip, 
which  with  his  chin  was  somewhat  thrust  forward, 
was  redder  than  the  lip  of  a  child.  It  was  perhaps 
this  noticeable  coloring  and  something  in  his  port 
which  made  him,  in  spite  of  the  correct  modernity 
of  his  dress,  suggest  some  seventeenth-century  por 
trait. 

"Forgive  my  passing  you,"  he  said,  at  length; 
"but  I'm  starving." 

"So  am  I,"  she  returned,  hardly  aware  of  what 
she  was  saying.  Some  strange,  almost  hypnotic 
attraction  seemed  to  rivet  her  whole  attention  on 
the  mere  phenomenon  of  this  man. 

"By  Jove!  Aren't  they  feeding  the  multitude 
down  there?"  he  asked,  nodding  in  the  direction 
of  the  supper-room. 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  with  the  simple 
gravity  of  a  child,  her  blue  eyes  still  fixed  upon  him. 
"  But  I  can't  ask  for  supper  for  myself,  can  I  ?" 

Her  need  was  distinctly  material;  yet  the  young 
man  confronting  her  white  grace,  the  strange  look 
in  her  blue  eyes,  had  a  dreamlike  feeling,  almost 
as  though  he  had  met  a  dryad  or  an  Undine  be 
tween  two  of  the  prosaic,  substantial  doors  of 
Ipswich  House.  And  as  in  a  dream  the  most  ex 
traordinary  things  seem  familiar  and  expected, 

232 


THE   INVADER 

so  the  apparition  of  the  Undine  and  her  confidence 
in  him  seemed  familiar,  in  fact  just  what  he  had 
been  expecting  during  those  hours  of  fog  off  the 
Goodwins,  when  the  sirens,  wild  voices  gathering 
up  from  all  the  seas  of  the  world,  had  been  scream 
ing  to  each  other  across  the  hidden  waters.  That 
same  inner  concentration  upon  the  mere  phenom 
enon  of  a  presence,  an  existence,  which  had  given 
the  childlike  note  to  Mildred's  speech,  froze  a  com 
pliment  upon  his  lips ;  and  they  stood  silent,  eying 
each  other  gravely.  A  junior  footman  appeared, 
carrying  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  a  bucket,  and 
the  young  man  addressed  him  in  a  vague,  distract 
ed  tone,  very  unlike  his  usual  manner. 

"  Look  here,  Arthur,  here's  a  lady  who  can't  get 
any  supper." 

The  footman  went  quite  pink  at  this  personal 
reproach.  He  happened  to  have  heard  some  one 
surmise,  on  seeing  Mildred  roaming  about  alone, 
that  she  was  a  newspaper  woman. 

"Please  sir,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  know  how  it's 
happened,  for  her  Ladyship  told  Mr.  Mackintosh 
to  be  sure  and  see  as  the  newspaper  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  well  looked  after,  and  he  thought 
as  they'd  all  had  supper." 

It  seemed  incredible  that  Mildred  should  not 
have  heard  this  reply,  uttered  so  close  to  her;  but 
though  it  fell  upon  her  ears  it  did  not  penetrate  to 
her  mind. 

"Bring  up  supper  for  two,  Arthur,"  said  Goring, 
in  his  usual  decisive  tone.  "That'll  do,  won't  it?" 
he  added,  and  turned  to  Mildred,  ushering  her  into 

233 


THE    INVADER 

the  room.  "You'll  have  supper  with  me,  I  hope? 
My  name's  Goring;  I'm  Lord  Ipswich's  son-in-law 
and  I  live  in  his  house;  so  you  see  it's  all  right." 

The  corollary  was  not  evident;  but  the  mention 
of  the  name  brought  Mildred  back  to  the  ordinary 
world.  So  this  was  George  Goring,  the  plague  of 
his  political  party,  the  fly  in  the  ointment  of  a 
respectable  Marquis  and  his  distinguished  daughter. 
She  had  not  fancied  him  like  this.  For  one  thing, 
she  did  not  know  him  to  be  younger  than  his  wife, 
and  between  the  careworn  solidity  of  Lady  Augusta 
and  this  vivid  restless  personality,  the  five  actual 
years  of  difference  seemed  stretched  to  ten. 

"I'm  convinced  it's  all  right,  Mr.  Goring,"  she 
replied,  throwing  herself  into  a  chair  and  smiling  at 
him  sparklingly.  "It  must  be  all  right.  I  want 
my  supper  so  much  I  should  have  to  accept  your 
invitation  even  if  you  were  a  burglar." 

Goring,  whose  habit  it  was  to  keep  moving, 
laughed  as  he  walked  about,  one  hand  in  his 
trousers  pocket. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  a  burglar?  A  burglar, 
with  an  assistant  disguised  as  a  footman,  sacking 
the  bedrooms  of  Lord  Ipswich's  house  while  the 
ball  proceeds?  There's  copy  for  you!  Shall  I  do 
it  ?  '  Mr.  George  Goring's  Celebrated  Black  Pearls 
Stolen,'  would  make  a  capital  head-line.  Perhaps 
you've  heard  I'd  do  anything  to  keep  my  name  in 
the  newspapers." 

"It  certainly  gets  there  pretty  often,"  returned 
Mildred,  politely;  "and  whenever  it's  mentioned 
it  has  an  enlivening  effect." 

234 


THE    INVADER 

The  footman  had  reappeared  and  they  were  tin- 
folding  their  dinner-napkins,  sitting  opposite  each 
other  at  the  little  table. 

"As  how,  enlivening?" 

"  Like  a  bit  of  bread  dropped  into  a  glass  of  flat 
champagne." 

"  You  think  my  party's  like  champagne  ?  Why, 
it  couldn't  exist  for  a  moment  if  it  sparkled." 

"  I  was  talking  of  newspapers,  not  of  your  party; 
though  there's  no  doubt  you  do  enliven  that." 

"Do  I?  Like  what?  No  odiously  inoffensive 
comparisons,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  I  have  heard  people  say  like — like  a  blister 
on  the  back  of  the  neck." 

Goring  laughed.     "Thanks.     That's  better." 

"The  patient's  using  language,  but  he  won't 
really  tear  it  off,  because  he  knows  that  would  hurt 
him  more,  and  the  blister  will  do  him  good  in  the 
end,  if  he  bears  with  it." 

"  But  there's  the  blister's  side  to  it,  too.  It's  in 
fernally  tiring  for  a  blister  to  be  sticking  on  to  such 
a  fellow  everlastingly.  It  11  fly  off  of  itself  be 
fore  long,  if  he  doesn't  look  out.  Hullo!  What 
am  I  saying?  I  suppose  you'll  have  all  this  out 
in  some  confounded  paper  —  'The  Rebel  Member 
Returns.  A  Chat  with  Mr.  Goring'  —  Don't  do 
that;  but  I'll  give  you  some  other  copy  if  you 
like." 

"You're  very  kind  in  giving  me  all  this  copy. 
What  shall  I  do  with  it?  Shall  I  keep  it  as  a 
memento?" 

"  No,  110.  You  can  sell  it ;  honor  bright  you  can." 
235 


THE    INVADER 

"Can  I?  Shall  I  get  much  for  it?  Enough 
money  to  buy  me  a  tiara,  do  you  think?" 

"Do  you  really  want  to  wear  the  usual  fender? 
Now,  why?  I  suppose  because  you  aren't  suf 
ficiently  aware  how — "  he  paused  on  the  edge  of 
a  compliment  which  seemed  suddenly  too  full- 
flavored  and  ordinary  to  be  addressed  to  this 
strangely  lovely  being,  with  her  smile  at  once  so 
sparkling  and  so  mysterious.  He  substituted: 
"How  much  more  distinguished  it  is  to  look  like 
an  Undine  than  like  a  peeress." 

Mildred  seemed  slightly  taken  aback. 

"Why  do  you  say  'Undine?'"  she  asked,  almost 
sharply.  "Do  I — do  I  look  as  if  I  came  out  of  a 
Trafalgar  Square  fountain  with  fell  designs  on  Lord 
Ipswich  ?" 

"Of  course  not.  But  —  I  can't  exactly  define 
even  to  myself  what  I  mean,  only  you  do  suggest  an 
Undine  to  me.  To  some  one  else  you  might  be 
simply  Miss —  Forgive  me,  I  don't  know  your 
name." 

He  had  not  even  troubled  to  glance  at  her  left 
hand,  and  when  the  "Mrs."  was  uttered  it  affected 
him  oddly.  It  was  one  of  the  peculiar  differences 
between  her  two  personalities  that,  casually  en 
countered,  Mildred  was  as  seldom  taken  for  a 
married  woman  as  Milly  for  an  unmarried  one. 

"Do  I  look  as  if  I'd  got  no  soul?"  she  persisted, 
leaning  a  little  towards  him,  an  intensity  that 
might  almost  have  been  called  anxiety  in  her  gaze. 

He  could  even  have  fancied  she  had  grown  paler. 
He,  too,  became  serious.  His  eyes  brightened, 

236 


THE    INVADER 

meeting  hers,  and  a  slight  color  came  into  his 
cheeks. 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  answered.  "I  should 
say  you  had  a  great  deal — in  fact,  I  shall  begin  to 
believe  in  detachable  souls  again.  Fancy  most 
people  as  just  souls,  without  trimmings.  It  makes 
one  laugh.  But  your  body  looks  like  an  emanation 
from  the  spirit;  as  though  it  might  flow  away  in  a 
white  waterfall  or  go  up  in  a  white  fire;  and  as 
though,  if  it  did,  your  soul  could  certainly  precipi 
tate  another  body,  which  must  certainly  be  like 
this  one,  because  it  would  be  as  this  is,  the  material 
expression  of  a  spirit." 

She  listened  as  he  spoke,  seriously,  her  eyes  on 
his.  But  when  he  had  done,  she  dropped  her  chin 
on  her  hand  and  laughed  delightedly. 

"  You  think  I  should  be  able  to  grow  a  fresh  body, 
like  a  lobster  growing  a  fresh  claw  ?  What  fun !" 

There  was  a  sound  without,  not  of  the  footman 
struggling  with  dishes  and  plates  and  the  door 
handle,  but  of  middle-aged  voices. 

Instinctively  Goring  and  Mildred  straightened 
themselves  and  looked  polite.  Lord  Ipswich  and 
Sir  John  Ireton,  deep  in  political  converse,  came 
slowly  in  and  then  stopped  short  in  surprise.  Mil 
dred  lost  not  a  moment  in  carrying  the  war  into 
their  country.  She  turned  about  and  addressed 
her  uncle  in  a  playful  tone,  which  yet  smacked  of 
reproof. 

"Here  you  are  at  last,  Uncle  John!  I  thought 
you'd  forgotten  all  about  me.  I've  been  walking 
miles  in  mad  pursuit  of  you,  till  I  was  so  tired  and 

237 


THE    INVADER 

hungry  I  think  I  should  have  dropped  if  Mr.  Goring 
hadn't  taken  pity  upon  me  and  made  me  eat  his 
supper." 

Sir  John  defended  himself,  and  Lord  Ipswich  was 
shocked  to  think  that  a  lady  had  been  in  such  dis 
tress  in  his  house ;  although  the  apparition  of  Goring 
prevented  him  from  feeling  it  as  acutely  as  he 
would  otherwise  have  done.  His  pleasant  pink 
face  took  on  an  expression  of  severity  as  he  re 
sponded  to  his  son-in-law's  somewhat  too  cheerful 
greeting. 

"Sorry  to  be  so  late,  but  we  were  held  up  by  a 
fog  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames." 

"It  must  have  been  very  important  business  to 
take  you  all  the  way  to  Brussels  so  suddenly." 

"  It  certainly  wouldn't  wait.  I  heard  there  wras 
a  whole  set  of  Beauvais  tapestries  to  be  had  for 
a  mere  song.  I  couldn't  buy  them  without  seeing 
them  you  know,  and  the  big  London  and  Paris 
dealers  were  bound  to  chip  in  if  I  didn't  settle  the 
matter  pretty  quick.  I'm  precious  glad  I  did,  for 
they're  the  finest  pieces  I  ever  saw  and  would  have 
fetched  five  times  what  I  gave  for  them  at 
Christie's." 

"Ah — really!"  was  all  Lord  Ipswich's  response, 
coldly  uttered  and  accompanied  by  a  smile  more 
sarcastic  than  often  visited  his  neat  and  kindly  lips. 
Sir  John  Ireton  and  Mildred,  aware  of  the  delicate 
situation,  partly  domestic  and  partly  political, 
upon  which  they  were  intruding,  took  themselves 
away  and  were  presently  rolling  through  the  empty 
streets  in  the  gray  light  of  early  morning. 

238 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NOT  long  afterwards  Mildred  received  a  letter 
the  very  address  of  which  had  an  original 
appearance,  looking  as  if  it  were  written  with  a 
stick  in  a  fist  rather  than  with  a  pen  between  fin 
gers.  It  caught  her  attention  at  once  from  half  a 
dozen  others. 

"DEAR  MRS.  STEWART, — Yesterday  I  was  at  Coch- 
rane's  studio  and  he  told  me  Meres  was  the  greatest  au 
thority  in  England  on  tapestry,  and  also  a  cousin  of  yours. 
Please  remember  (or  forgive)  the  supper  on  Tuesday, 
and  of  your  kindness,  ask  him  to  let  me  see  his  lot  and 
give  me  his  opinion  on  mine.  Cochrane  had  a  folly  he 
called  a  portrait  of  you  in  his  studio.  I  turned  its  face 
to  the  wall ;  and  in  the  end  he  admitted  I  was  right. 
"Yours  sincerely, 

"GEORGE  GORING." 

Accordingly,  on  a  very  hot  day  early  in  July, 
Goring  met  Mildred  again,  at  Sir  Cyril  Meres 's 
house  on  Campden  Hill.  The  long  room  at  one 
end  of  which  stood  the  small  dining-table  looked  on 
the  greenness  of  a  lawny,  lilac-sheltered  garden,  so 
that  such  light  as  filtered  through  the  green 
jalousies  was  green  also.  There  was  a  great  block 
of  ice  somewhere  in  the  room,  and  so  cool  it  was,  so 
greenly  dim  there,  that  it  seemed  almost  like  a 

239 


THE    INVADER 

cavern  of  the  sea.  Mildred  wore  a  white  dress,  and, 
as  was  the  fashion  of  the  moment,  a  large  black 
hat  shadowed  with  ostrich-feathers.  Once  more 
on  seeing  her  he  had  a  startled  impression  of  looking 
upon  an  ethereal  creature,  a  being  somehow  totally 
distinct  from  other  beings;  and  for  lack  of  some 
more  appropriate  name,  he  called  her  again  in  his 
mind  "Undine."  As  the  talk,  which  Cyril  Meres 
had  a  genius  for  making  general,  became  more 
animated,  he  half  lost  that  impression  in  one  of  a 
very  clever,  charming  woman,  with  a  bright  wit 
sailing  lightly  over  depths  of  knowledge  to  which 
he  was  unaccustomed  in  her  sex. 

The  party  was  not  intended  to  number  more  than 
eight  persons,  of  whom  Lady  Thomson  was  one,  and 
they  sat  down  seven.  When  Sir  Cyril  observed: 
"We  won't  wait  any  longer  for  Davison,"  Mildred 
was  too  much  interested  in  Goring's  presence  to 
inquire  who  this  Davison  might  be. 

She  sparkled  on  half  through  luncheon  to  the 
delight  of  every  one  but  Miss  Ormond  the  actress, 
who  would  have  preferred  to  play  the  lead  herself. 
Then  came  a  pause.  A  door  was  opened  at  the  far 
end  of  the  dim  room,  and  the  missing  guest  ap 
peared.  Sir  Cyril  rose  hastily  to  greet  him.  He 
advanced  without  any  apologetic  hurry  in  his  gait ; 
the  same  impassive  Maxwell  Davison  as  before, 
but  leaner,  browner,  more  silver-headed  from  three 
more  years  of  wandering  under  Oriental  suns. 
Mildred  could  hardly  have  supposed  it  possible  that 
the  advent  of  any  human  being  could  have  given 
her  so  disagreeable  a  sensation. 

240 


THE    INVADER 

Sir  Cyril  was  unaware  that  she  knew  Maxwell 
Davison ;  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  a  cousin  of 
Stewart's,  between  whom  and  himself  there  existed 
a  mutual  antipathy,  expressing  itself  in  terms  of 
avoidance.  His  own  acquaintance  with  Davison 
was  recent  and  in  the  way  of  business.  He  had  had 
the  fancy  to  build  for  the  accommodation  of  his  Hel 
lenic  treasures  a  room  in  imitation  of  the  court  of  a 
Graeco-Roman  house  which  he  had  helped  to  exca 
vate  in  Asia  Minor.  He  had  commissioned  Davison 
to  buy  him  hangings  for  it  to  harmonize  with  an 
old  Persian  carpet  in  cream  color  and  blue  of  which 
he  was  already  possessed.  Davison  had  brought 
these  with  him  and  a  little  collection  of  other  things 
which  he  thought  Meres  might  care  to  look  at.  He 
did  not  know  the  Stewarts  had  moved  to  London, 
and  it  was  an  unpleasant  surprise  to  find  himself 
seated  at  the  same  table  with  Mildred ;  he  had  not 
forgotten,  still  less  forgiven,  the  lure  of  her  coquetry, 
the  insult  of  her  rebuff. 

Lady  Thomson  was  next  him  and  questioned 
him  exhaustively  about  his  book  on  Persian  Liter 
ature  and  the  travels  of  his  lifetime.  Miss  Ormond 
took  advantage  of  Mrs.  Stewart's  sudden  silence  to 
talk  to  the  table  rather  cleverly  around  the  central 
theme  of  herself.  Goring  conversed  apart  with  Mrs. 
Stewart. 

Coffee  was  served  in  the  shrine  which  Sir  Cyril 
had  reared  for  his  Greek  collection,  of  which  the 
gem  was  a  famous  head  of  Aphrodite — an  early 
Aphrodite,  divine,  removed  from  all  possible  pains 
and  agitations  of  human  passion.  The  room  was 
16  241 


THE    INVADER 

an  absurdity  on  Campden  Hill,  said  some,  but  un 
deniably  beautiful  in  itself.  The  columns,  of  sin 
gular  lightness  and  grace,  were  of  a  fine  marble 
which  hovered  between  creamy  white  and  faint 
yellow,  and  the  walls  and  floor  were  of  the  same 
tone,  except  for  a  frieze  on  a  Greek  model,  very 
faintly  colored,  and  the  old  Persian  carpet.  In  fine 
summer  weather  the  large  skylight  covering  the 
central  space  was  withdrawn,  and  such  sky  as 
London  can  show  looked  down  upon  it.  The  new 
hangings  which  Maxwell  Davison  had  brought  with 
him  were  already  displayed  on  a  tall  screen,  and  his 
miscellaneous  collection  of  antiquities,  partly  sent 
from  Durham  College,  partly  lately  acquired,  were 
arranged  on  a  marble  bench. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  brought  these  things,  Sir  Cyril, " 
he  said ;  "  if  I'd  known  Mrs.  Stewart  was  here.  She's 
got  a  way  of  hinting  that  my  most  cherished  an 
tiquities  are  forgeries;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  she 
makes  every  one  believe  her,  including  myself." 

Mildred  protested. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything  about  an 
tiquities,  Mr.  Davison.  I'm  sure  I  never  suspected 
you  of  a  forgery,  and  if  I  had,  I  hope  I  shouldn't 
have  been  rude  enough  to  tell  you  so." 

Maxwell  Davison  laughed  his  harsh  laugh. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  believe  you  can't  be  rude, 
Mrs.  Stewart?" 

"I'm  almost  afraid  she  can't  be,"  interposed 
Lady  Thomson's  full  voice.  "People  who  make  a 
superstition  of  politeness  infallibly  lose  the  higher 
courtesy  of  truth." 

242 


THE    INVADER 

Here  Sir  Cyril  Meres  called  Davison  away  to 
worship  at  the  shrine  of  the  Aphrodite,  while  Goring 
invited  Mrs.  Stewart  into  a  neighboring  corridor 
where  some  tapestries  were  hanging. 

The  divining  crystal  was  among  the  objects 
returned  from  Oxford,  and  had  been  included  in 
the  collection  which  Davison  had  brought  with 
him,  on  the  chance  that  the  painter  might  fancy 
such  curiosities.  When  Goring  and  Mildred  re 
turned  from  their  leisurely  inspection  of  the  tap 
estries,  Miss  Ormond  had  it  in  her  hand,  and 
Lady  Thomson  was  commenting  on  some  remark 
of  hers. 

"  I've  no  doubt,  as  you  say,  it  has  played  a  wick 
ed  part  before  now  in  Oriental  intrigues.  But  of 
course  the  poor  crystal  is  perfectly  innocent  of  the 
things  read  into  it  by  rascals,  practising  on  the 
ignorant  and  superstitious." 

"Sometimes,  perhaps,  Lady  Thomson,"  returned 
Miss  Ormond;  "but  sometimes  people  do  see  ex 
traordinary  visions  in  a  crystal." 

Lady  Thomson  sniffed. 

"Excitable,  imaginative  people  do,  I  dare  say." 

"On  the  contrary,  prosaic  people  are  far  more 
likely  to  see  things  than  highly  strung  imaginative 
creatures  like  myself.  I've  tried  several  times  and 
have  never  seen  anything.  I  believe  having  a  great 
deal  of  brain-power  and  emotion  and  all  that  tells 
against  it.  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  now  if 
Mrs.  Stewart,  who  is — well,  I  should  fancy,  just  a 
little  cold,  very  bright  and  all  that  on  the  surface, 
you  know — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  could  crys- 

243 


THE    INVADER 

tal-gaze  very  successfully.  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  she's  ever  tried." 

"I'm  sure  she's  not,"  replied  Lady  Thomson, 
firmly.  "My  niece,  Mrs.  Stewart,  is  a  great  deal 
too  sensible  and  well-educated." 

"Mrs.  Stewart  can't  honestly  say  the  same  for 
herself,"  interposed  Davison;  "she  gazed  in  this 
very  crystal  some  years  ago  and  certainly  saw 
something  in  it." 

Miss  Ormond  exclaimed  in  triumph.  Mildred 
froze.  She  did  not  desire  the  role  of  Society  Seer. 

"What  did  I  see,  Mr.  Davison?"  she  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Nothing  of  importance.  You  saw  a  woman  in 
a  light  dress.  Perhaps  it  was  Lady  Hammerton 
the  collector,  originally  guilty,  you  remember,  in 
the  matter  of  the  forged  Augustus." 

"Mildred  had  only  to  peep  in  any  glass  to  see 
Lady  Hammerton,  or  some  one  sufficiently  like 
her,"  observed  Meres. 

"That  idea  was  started  when  David  Fletcher 
picked  up  the  fancy  picture  which  he  chose  to  call 
a  portrait  of  Lady  Hammerton,"  cried  Lady 
Thomson,  who  was  just  taking  her  leave.  "Such 
nonsense!  I  protest  against  my  own  niece  and  a 
scholar  of  Ascham  being  likened  to  that  scandalous 
woman." 

Cyril  Meres  smiled  and  stroked  his  soft,  silvery 
beard. 

"Quite  right  of  you  to  protest,  Beatrice.  Still, 
I'm  glad  Lady  Hammerton  didn't  stick  heroically 
to  her  Professor — as  Mildred  here  does.  We  should 

244 


THE    INVADER 

never  have  been  proud  of  her  as  an  ancestress  if  she 
had." 

"Heroically?"  repeated  Maxwell  Davison  under 
his  breath,  and  laughed.  But  the  meaning  of  his 
laugh  was  lost  on  every  one  except  Mildred.  She 
flushed  hotly  at  the  thought  of  having  to  bear  the 
responsibility  of  that  ridiculous  scene  on  the  Cher- 
well;  it  was  humiliating,  indeed.  She  took  up  the 
crystal  to  conceal  her  chagrin. 

"Do  please  see  something,  Mrs.  Stewart!"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Ormond. 

"What  sort  of  thing?" 

"Anything!  Whatever  you  see,  it  will  be  quite 
thrilling. 

"Please  see  me,  Mrs.  Stewart,"  petitioned  Gor 
ing,  wandering  towards  the  crystal  -  gazer.  "  I 
should  so  like  to  thrill  Miss  Ormond." 

"It's  no  good  your  trying  that  way,"  smiled  the 
lady,  playing  fine  eyes.  "It's  only  shadows  that 
are  thrilling  in  the  crystal;  shadows  of  some  thing 
happening  a  long  way  off;  or  sometimes  a  coming 
event  casts  a  shadow  before — and  that's  the  most 
thrilling  of  all." 

"A  coming  event!  That's  exactly  what  I  am, 
a  tremendous  coming  Political  Event.  You  ask 
them  in  the  House,"  cried  Goring,  thrusting  out 
his  chin  and  aiming  a  provocative  side-smile  at  a 
middle-aged  Under  -  Secretary  of  State  who  dis 
creetly  admired  Miss  Ormond. 

"Modest  creature!"  ejaculated  the  Under-Secre- 
tary  playfully  with  his  lips;  and  in  his  heart  vin 
dictively,  "Conceited  devil!" 

245 


THE    INVADER 

"Please  see  me,  Mrs.  Stewart!"  pleaded  Goring, 
half  kneeling  on  a  chair  and  leaning  over  the 
crystal. 

"I  do,"  she  returned.  "I'd  rather  not.  You 
look  so  distorted  and  odd;  and  so  do  I,  don't  I? 
Dreadful!  But  the  crystal's  getting  cloudy." 

"Then  you're  going  really  to  see  something!" 
exclaimed  Miss  Ormond.  "  How  delightful !  Come 
away  directly,  Mr.  Goring,  or  you'll  spoil  every 
thing." 

Sir  Cyril  and  Davison  looked  up  from  some 
treasure  of  Greek  art.  The  conversation  was 
perfunctory,  every  one's  curiosity  waiting  on  Mil 
dred  and  the  crystal. 

"Don't  you  see  anything  yet,  Mrs.  Stewart?" 
asked  Miss  Ormond  at  length,  impatiently. 

"No,"  replied  Mildred,  hesitatingly.  "At  least, 
not  exactly.  I  see  something  like  rushing  water 
and  foam." 

"The  reflection  of  clouds  overhead,"  pronounced 
the  Under-Secretary,  dogmatically,  glancing  up 
ward. 

"I'm  sure  it's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  asserted  Miss 
Ormond.  "  Please  go  on  looking,  Mrs.  Stewart,  and 
perhaps  you'll  see  a  water-spirit." 

"Why  do  you  want  her  to  see  a  water-spirit?" 
asked  Davison,  ironically.  "In  all  countries  of 
the  world  they  are  reckoned  spiteful,  treacherous 
creatures.  I  was  once  bitten  by  one  severely,  and 
I  have  never  wanted  to  see  one  since." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Davison!  Are  you  serious?  What  do 
you  mean?"  questioned  Miss  Ormond. 

246 


THE    INVADER 

Mrs.  Stewart  hastily  put  down  the  crystal.  "I 
don't  want  to  see  one,"  she  said;  "I'm  afraid  it 
might  bring  me  bad  luck,  and,  besides,  I  can't  wait 
for  it,  I've  got  several  calls  to  make  before  I  go 
home,  and  I  think  there's  a  storm  coming."  She 
shivered.  "I'm  quite  cold." 

Miss  Ormond  said  that  must  be  the  effect  of  the 
crystal,  as  the  afternoon  was  still  oppressively  hot. 

Goring  caught  up  with  Mrs.  Stewart  in  the  gravel 
drive  outside  the  house  and  walked  through  Ken 
sington  Gardens  with  her.  It  seemed  to  them  both 
quite  natural  that  they  should  be  walking  together, 
and  their  talk  was  in  the  vein  of  old  friends  who 
have  met  after  a  long  separation  rather  than  in 
that  of  new  acquaintances.  When  he  left  her  and 
turned  to  walk  across  Hyde  Park  towards  West 
minster,  he  examined  his  impressions  and  perceived 
that  he  was  in  a  state  of  mind  foreign  to  his  nat 
ure,  and  therefore  the  butt  of  his  ridicule;  a  state 
in  which,  if  he  and  Mrs.  Stewart  had  been  unmar 
ried  persons,  he  would  have  said  to  himself,  "  That 
is  the  woman  I  shall  marry."  It  would  not  have 
been  a  passion  or  an  emotion  that  would  have  made 
him  say  that ;  it  would  have  been  a  conviction.  As 
it  was,  the  thing  was  absurd.  Cochrane  had  told 
him,  half  in  jest,  that  Mrs.  Stewart  was  a  breaker 
of  hearts,  but  had  not  hinted  that  her  own  was  on 
the  market.  Her  appearance  made  it  surely  an  in 
teresting  question  whether  she  had  a  heart  at  all. 

And  for  himself?  He  hated  to  think  of  his 
marriage,  because  he  recognized  in  it  the  fatal 
"little  spot"  in  the  yet  ungarnered  fruit  of  his  life. 

247 


THE    INVADER 

He  was  only  thirty,  but  he  had  been  married 
seven  years  and  had  two  children,  both  of  them  the 
image  of  all  the  Barthops  that  had  ever  been,  ex 
cept  his  own  father.  In  moments  of  depression  he 
saw  himself  through  all  the  coming  years  being  grad 
ually  broken,  crushed  under  a  weight  of  Barthops — 
father-in-law,  wife  and  children — moulded  into  a 
thin  semblance  of  a  Marquis  of  Ipswich,  a  bastard 
Marquis.  No  one  but  himself  knew  the  weakness 
of  his  character — explosive,  audacious  in  alarums 
or  excursions,  but  without  the  something,  call  it 
strength  or  hardness  or  stupidity,  which  enables 
the  man  or  woman  possessing  it  to  resist  constant 
domestic  pressure  —  the  unconscious  pressure  of 
radically  opposed  character.  The  crowd  applauds 
the  marriage  of  such  opposites  because  their  side 
almost  always  wins;  partly  by  its  own  weight  and 
partly  by  their  weight  behind.  But  the  truth  is 
that  two  beings  opposed  in  emotional  tempera 
ment  and  mental  processes  are  only  a  few  degrees 
more  able  to  help  and  understand  each  other  in  the 
close  union  of  marriage  than  the  two  personalities 
of  Milly  Stewart  in  the  closer  union  of  her  body. 

From  one  point  of  view  it  was  Goring's  fatal 
weakness  to  have  a  real  affection  for  h  s  father-in- 
law,  who  was  a  pattern  of  goodness  and  good- 
breeding.  Consequently,  that  very  morning  he 
had  promised  Lord  Ipswich  to  walk  in  the  straight- 
est  way  of  the  party,  for  one  year  at  least ;  and  if  he 
must  slap  faces,  to  select  them  on  the  other  side 
of  the  House.  Nevertheless,  if  he  really  wished  to 
give  sincere  gratification  to  Lord  Ipswich  and  to 

248 


THE    INVADER 

dear  Augusta,  he  must  needs  give  up  his  capricious 
and  offensive  tactics  altogether.  These  things  might 
give  him  a  temporary  notoriety  in  the  House  and 
country,  but  they  were  not  in  the  traditions  of  the 
Ipswich  family,  which  had  held  a  high  place  in 
politics  for  two  hundred  years.  The  Marquis  said 
that  he  had  always  tried  to  make  George  feel  that 
he  was  received  as  a  true  son  of  the  family  and  heir 
of  its  best  traditions,  if  not  of  its  name.  There  had 
been  a  great  deal  of  good  faith  on  both  sides.  Yet 
now  a  solitary  young  man,  looking  well  in  the  frock- 
coat  and  tall  hat  of  convention,  might  have  been 
observed  stopping  and  striking  the  gravel  viciously 
as  he  reflected  on  the  political  future  which  his 
father-in-law  was  mapping  out  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SIR  JAMES  CARUS,  the  well- known  scientist, 
had  for  some  time  been  employing  Miss  Tim- 
son  in  the  capacity  of  assistant,  and  spoke  highly 
of  her  talents.  She  began  to  have  a  reputation  in 
scientific  circles,  and  owing  to  her  duties  with  Cams 
she  could  not  come  to  the  Stewarts'  as  often  as  she 
had  formerly  done.  But  she  preserved  her  habit 
of  dismissing  the  parlor-maid  at  the  door  and  creep 
ing  up  to  the  drawing-room  like  a  thief  in  the  night. 

On  the  day  following  Sir  Cyril  Meres 's  luncheon- 
party  she  arrived  in  her  usual  fashion.  The  win 
dows  were  shaded  against  the  afternoon  sun,  but 
the  sky  was  now  overcast,  and  such  a  twilight 
reigned  within  that  at  first  she  could  distinguish 
little,  and  the  drawing-room  seemed  to  her  to  be 
empty.  But  in  a  minute  she  discerned  a  white 
figure  supine  in  a  large  arm-chair — Mildred,  and 
asleep. 

She  had  a  writing-board  on  her  knee,  and  a  hand 
resting  on  it  still  held  a  stylograph.  She  must  have 
dozed  over  her  writing;  yet  she  did  not  stir  when 
her  name  was  uttered.  Tims  noticed  a  peculiar 
stillness  in  her,  a  something  almost  inanimate  in 
her  attitude  and  countenance,  which  suggested  that 
this  was  no  ordinary  siesta.  The  idea  that  Milly 

250 


THE    INVADER 

might  even  now  be  resurgent  fluttered  Tims's  pulses 
with  a  mixed  emotion. 

"Good  old  Milly!  Poor  old  girl!"  she  breathed 
to  the  white  figure  in  the  arm-chair.  "  Don't  be  in 
a  hurry!  You  won't  find  it  all  beer  and  skittles 
when  you're  here." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  a  slight  convulsion  passed 
over  the  sleeper's  face. 

Tims  seated  herself  on  a  low  chair,  in  the  attitude 
of  certain  gargoyles  that  crouch  under  the  eaves  of 
old  churches,  elbows  on  knees,  chin  on  hands,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  in  silence  on  her  silent  companion. 
In  spite  of  her  work  along  the  acknowledged  lines 
of  science,  she  had  pursued  her  hypnotic  studies 
furtively,  half  in  scorn  and  half  in  fear  of  her  scien 
tific  brethren.  What  would  she  not  have  given  to 
be  enabled  to  watch,  to  comprehend  the  changes 
passing  within  that  human  form  so  close  to  her 
that  she  could  see  its  every  external  detail,  could 
touch  it  by  the  out-stretching  of  a  hand!  But  its 
inner  shrine,  its  secret  place,  remained  barred 
against  those  feeble  implements  of  sense  with  which 
nature  has  provided  the  explorative  human  intelli 
gence.  Its  content  was  more  mysterious,  more 
inaccessible  than  that  of  the  remotest  star  which 
yields  the  secret  of  its  substance  to  the  spectroscope 
of  the  astronomer. 

Tims's  thoughts  had  forsaken  the  personal  side 
of  the  question,  when  she  was  recalled  to  it  by  see 
ing  the  right  hand  in  which  the  stylograph  had  been 
lying  begin  to  twitch,  the  fingers  to  contract. 
There  was  no  answering  movement  in  the  face — 

251 


THE    INVADER 

even  when  the  sleeper  at  length  firmly  grasped  the 
pen  and  suddenly  sat  up.  Tims  rose  quickly,  and 
then  perceived,  lying  on  the  writing-board,  a  di 
rected  envelope  and  a  half -finished  note  to  herself. 
She  slipped  the  note-paper  nearer  to  the  twitching 
hand,  and  after  a  few  meaningless  flourishes,  it 
wrote  slowly  and  tentatively: 

"Tims — Milly — cannot  get  back.  Help  me  .  .  . 
Save  Ian.  Wicked  creature — no  conscience — " 

Here  the  power  of  the  hand  began  to  fail,  and 
the  writing  was  terminated  by  mere  scrawls.  The 
sleeper's  eyes  were  now  open,  but  not  wide.  They 
had  a  strange,  glassy  look  in  them,  nor  did  she 
show  any  consciousness  of  Tims's  presence.  She 
dropped  the  pen,  folded  the  paper  in  the  same  slow 
and  tentative  manner  in  which  she  had  written 
upon  it,  and  placed  it  in  the  directed  envelope  lying 
there.  Then  her  face  contracted,  her  fingers  slack 
ened,  and  she  fell  back  again  to  the  depths  of  the 
chair. 

"Milly!"  cried  Tims,  almost  involuntarily  bend 
ing  over  her.  "  Milly !" 

Again  there  was  a  slight  contraction  of  the  face 
and  of  the  whole  body. 

At  the  moment  that  Tims  uttered  Milly's  name, 
Ian  was  entering  the  room.  His  long  legs  brought 
him  up  to  the  chair  in  an  instant,  and  he  asked, 
without  the  usual  salutation : 

"What's  the  matter?  Has — has  the  change 
happened  ?" 

His  voice  unconsciously  spoke  dismay.  Tims 
looked  at  him. 

252 


THE    INVADER 

"No,  not  exactly,"  she  articulated,  slowly;  and, 
after  a  pause:  "Poor  old  Milly's  trying  to  come 
back,  that's  all." 

She  paused  again;  then: 

"You  look  a  bit  worried,  old  man." 

He  tossed  back  his  head  with  a  gesture  he  had 
kept  from  the  days  when  the  crest  of  raven-black 
hair  had  been  wont  to  grow  too  long  and  encroach 
on  his  forehead.  It  was  grizzled  now,  and  much 
less  intrusive. 

"I'm  about  tired  out,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"Look  here,"  she  continued,  "if  you  really  want 
Milly  back,  just  say  so.  She's  kind  of  knocking  at 
the  door,  and  I  believe  I  could  let  her  in  if  I 
tried." 

He  dropped  wearily  into  a  chair. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Timson,  don't  put  the 
responsibility  on  me!" 

"I  can't  help  it,"  returned  Tims.  "She's  man 
aged  to  get  this  through  to  me — "  She  handed 
Milly's  scrawled  message  to  Ian. 

He  read  it,  then  read  it  again  and  handed  it  back. 

"Strange,  certainly." 

"  Does  it  mean  anything  in  particular  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  almost  impatiently 
and  sighed. 

"Oh  no!  It's  the  poor  child's  usual  cry  when 
she's  here.  She's  got  it  into  her  head  that  the  self 
she  doesn't  know  is  frightfully  wicked,  and  makes 
me  miserable.  I've  tried  over  and  over  again  to 
convince  her,  but  it's  all  nonsense." 

He  thought  to  himself :  "  She  is  coming  back  still 
253 


THE    INVADER 

full  of  this  mortal,  heart-rending  jealousy,  and  we 
shall  have  more  painful  scenes." 

"Well,  it's  your  business  to  say  what  I'm  to  do," 
insisted  Tims.  "  I  don't  think  she'd  have  troubled 
to  write  if  she'd  found  she  could  get  back  altogether 
without  my  help;  but  the  other  one's  grown  a  bit 
too  strong  for  her.  Do  you  want  Milly  back?" 

The  remorseless  Tims  forced  on  Ian  a  plain  ques 
tion  which  in  his  own  mind  he  habitually  sought  to 
evade.  He  leaned  back  and  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  hand.  After  a  silence  he  spoke,  low,  as  if  with 
effort: 

"  I  can't  honestly  say  I  want  the  change  to 
happen  just  now,  Miss  Timson.  It  means  a  great 
deal  of  agitation,  a  thorough  upheaval  of  everything. 
We  have  an  extremely  troublesome  business  on  at 
the  Merchants'  Guild — I've  just  come  away  from 
a  four  hours'  meeting;  and  upon  my  word  I  don't 
think  I  can  stand  a — domestic  revolution  at  the 
same  time.  It  would  utterly  unfit  me  for  my 
work." 

He  did  not  add  that  he  had  been  looking  forward 
to  receiving  helpful  counsel  from  Mildred,  with  her 
clear  common-sense,  seasoned  with  wit. 

Tims  wagged  her  head  and  stared  in  his  face. 

"Poor  old  M.!"  she  ejaculated,  slowly. 

Miss  Timson  still  possessed  the  rare  power  of  irri 
tating  Ian  Stewart.  He  grew  restive. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  a  selfish  brute.  Men  always  are, 
aren't  they?  But,  after  all,  my  wife  enjoys  life  in 
her  present  state  at  least  as  much  as  she  does  in 
the  other," 

254 


THE   INVADER 

"Not  for  the  same  reason,  dear  boy,"  returned 
Tims.  "  Old  M.,  bless  her,  just  lives  for  you.  You 
don't  imagine,  do  you,  that  Mildred  cares  about  you 
like  that?" 

Ian  flushed  slightly,  and  his  face  hardened. 

"  One  can't  very  well  discuss  one's  wife's  feeling 
for  one's  self,"  he  said.  "I  believe  I  have  every 
reason  to  be  happy,  however  things  are.  And  I 
very  much  doubt,  Miss  Timson,  whether  you  can 
really  effect  the  change  in  her  in  any  way.  At  any 
rate,  I'd  rather  you  didn't  try,  please.  I'll  have  her 
moved  to  her  room,  where  she'll  most  likely  sleep 
till  to-morrow." 

Tims  bent  over  the  sleeper.     Then : 

"I  don't  believe  she  will,  somehow.  You'd 
better  leave  her  with  me  for  the  present,  and  I'll 
let  you  know  if  anything  happens." 

He  obeyed,  and  in  a  minute  she  heard  the  front 
door  close  after  him.  Tims  sat  down  in  the  chair 
which  he  had  vacated. 

"Poor  old  M. !"  she  ejaculated  again,  presently, 
and  added :  "  What  idiots  men  are!  All  except  old 
Cams  and  Mr.  Fitzallan.  He's  sensible  enough." 

Her  thoughts  wandered  away,  until  they  were 
recalled  by  the  door  opening  a  mere  chink  to  let  a 
child  slip  into  the  room — a  slim,  tall  child,  in  a  blue 
smock — Tony.  His  thick,  dark  hair  was  cropped 
boywise  now,  and  the  likeness  of  the  beautiful, 
sensitive  child  face  to  lan's  was  more  marked.  It 
was  evident  that  in  him  there  was  to  be  no  blending 
of  strains,  but  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  paternal 
type. 

255 


THE    INVADER 

Tims  was  in  his  eyes  purely  a  comic  character, 
but  the  ready  grin  with  which  he  usually  greeted 
her  was  replaced  to-day  by  a  little,  inattentive 
smile.  He  went  past  her  and  stood  by  the  sofa, 
looking  fixedly  at  his  mother  with  a  grave  mouth 
and  a  slight  frown  on  his  forehead.  At  length  he 
turned  away,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room  as 
quietly  as  he  had  come,  when  Tims  brought  him  to 
a  stand-still  at  her  knee.  He  held  up  an  admonish 
ing  finger. 

"  Sh !  Don't  you  wake  my  Mummy,  or  Daddy  '11 
be  angry  with  you." 

"We  sha'n't  wake  her;  she's  too  fast  asleep. 
Tell  me  why  you  looked  so  solemnly  at  her  just 
now,  Tony?" 

Tony,  his  hands  held  fast,  wriggled,  rubbed  his 
shoulder  against  his  ear,  and  for  all  answer  laughed 
in  a  childish,  silly  way.  Such  is  the  depth  and 
secretiveness  of  children,  whom  we  call  transparent. 

"  Did  you  think  Mummy  was  dead  ?" 

"  What's  '  dead'  ?"  asked  Tony,  with  interest,  put 
ting  off  his  mask  of  inanity. 

"  People  are  dead  when  they've  gone  to  sleep  and 
will  never  wake  again,"  returned  Tims. 

Tony  thought  a  minute ;  then  his  dark  eyes  grew 
very  large.  He  whispered  slowly,  as  though  with 
difficulty  formulating  his  ideas : 

"Doesn't  they  never  wake?  Doesn't  they  wake 
up  after  ever  so  long,  when  peoples  can't  remember 
everything — and  it  makes  them  want  to  cry,  only 
grown-up  people  aren't  'lowed  ?" 

Tims  was  puzzled.  But  even  in  her  bewilderment 
256 


THE    INVADER 

it  occurred  to  her  that  if  poor  Milly  should  return, 
she  would  be  distressed  to  find  in  what  a  slovenly 
manner  Tony  was  allowed  to  express  himself. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Tony.  Say  it 
again  and  put  it  more  clearly." 

Tims  had  around  her  neck  a  necklace  composed  of 
casts  of  coins  in  the  British  Museum.  She  did  not 
usually  wear  ornaments,  because  she  possessed  none, 
except  a  hair-bracelet,  two  brooches,  and  a  large 
gold  cross  which  had  belonged  to  her  late  aunt. 
Tony's  soft,  slender  fingers  went  to  the  necklace, 
and  ignoring  her  question,  he  asked:  "Why  have 
you  got  these  funny  things  round  your  neck, 
Auntie  Tims?" 

"They're  not  funny.  They're  beautiful — copies 
of  money  which  the  old  Greeks  used  to  use.  A  gen 
tleman  gave  it  to  me."  Tims  spoke  with  a  grand 
carelessness.  "  I  dare  say  if  you're  a  good  boy  he'll 
tell  you  stories  about  them  himself  some  day.  But 
I  want  you  to  explain  what  it  was  you  meant  to  say 
about  dead  people.  Dead  people  don't  come  back, 
you  know." 

Tony  touched  her  hand,  which  lay  open  on  her 
knee,  and  played  with  the  fingers  a  minute.  Then 
raising  his  eyes  he  said,  plaintively: 

"  I  do  so  want  my  tea." 

Once  more  he  had  wiped  the  conversational  slate, 
and  the  baffled  Tims  dismissed  him.  He  opened 
the  door  a  little  and  slipped  out ;  put  his  dark  head 
in  again  with  an  engaging  smile,  said  politely,  "  I 
sha'n't  be  away  very  long,"  and  closed  the  door 
softly  behind  him.  For  that  soft  closing  of  the 

17  257 


THE    INVADER 

door  was  one  of  the  things  poor  Milly  had  taught 
him  which  the  little  'peoples'  did  contrive  to  re 
member. 

The  sleeper  now  began  to  stir  slightly  in  her  sleep, 
and  before  Tony's  somewhat  prolonged  tea  was 
over,  she  sat  up  and  looked  about  her. 

"Is  that  Tims?"  she  asked,  in  a  colorless  voice. 

"Yes— is  it  you,  Milly?" 

"  No.     What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Milly's  been  trying  to  come  back.  I  suppose 
she  couldn't  manage  it." 

"  Ah !" — there  was  a  deep  satisfaction  in  Mildred's 
tone  now;  "I  thought  she  couldn't!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

/^EORGE  GORING  and  Mildred  Stewart  did 
\~J  not  move  in  the  same  social  set,  but  their  sets 
had  points  of  contact,  and  it  was  at  these  that 
Goring  was  now  most  likely  to  be  found ;  especially 
at  the  pleasant  bachelor  house  on  Campden  Hill. 
Mrs.  Stewart  walked  in  the  Park  every  morning  at 
an  unfashionable  hour,  and  sometimes,  yet  not  too 
often  for  discretion,  Goring  happened  to  be  walking 
there  too.  All  told,  their  meetings  were  not  very 
numerous,  nor  very  private.  But  every  half-hour 
they  spent  in  each  other's  company  seemed  to  do 
the  work  of  a  month  of  intimacy. 

July  hastened  to  an  end,  but  an  autumn  Session 
brought  Goring  up  to  town  in  November,  and  three 
months  of  absence  found  him  and  Mildred  still  at 
the  same  point.  Sir  Cyril  Meres  was  already  be 
ginning  to  plan  his  wonderful  tableaux  -  vivants, 
which,  however,  did  not  come  off  until  February. 
The  extraordinary  imitative  talent  which  his  artis 
tic  career  had  been  one  long  struggle  to  disguise, 
was  for  once  to  be  allowed  full  play.  The  tab 
leaux  were  to  represent  paintings  by  certain  fellow- 
artists  and  friends;  not  actual  pictures  by  them, 
but  pictures  which  they  might  have  painted,  and 

259 


THE    INVADER 

the  supposed  authors  were  allowed  a  right  of  veto 
or  criticism. 

A  stage  of  Renaissance  design,  which  did  not 
jar  with  the  surrounding  architecture,  was  erected 
in  the  depth  of  the  portico  at  the  end  of  the  Hellenic 
room. 

The  human  material  at  Meres 's  command  was 
physically  admirable.  He  had  long  been  the 
chosen  portrait-painter  of  wealth  and  fashion,  and 
there  was  not  a  beauty  in  Society,  with  the  biggest 
"S,"  who  was  not  delighted  to  lend  her  charms  for 
his  purpose.  The  young  men  might  grumble  for 
form's  sake,  but  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts  they 
were  equally  sensible  to  the  compliment  of  being 
asked  to  appear.  It  was  when  it  came  to  the 
moulding  of  the  material  for  artistic  purposes,  that 
the  trouble  began.  The  English  have  produced 
great  actors,  but  in  the  bulk  they  have  little  natural 
aptitude  for  the  stage ;  and  what  they  have  is  dis 
couraged  by  a  social  training  which  strains  after 
the  ideal  composure,  the  few  movements,  the  glassy 
eye  of  a  waxwork.  Only  a  small  and  chosen  num 
ber,  it  is  true,  fully  attain  that  ideal ;  but  when  we 
see  them  we  recognize  with  a  start,  almost  with  a 
shudder,  that  it  is  there,  the  perfection  of  our  de 
portment. 

Cyril  Meres  was,  however,  an  admirable  stage- 
manager,  exquisite  in  tact,  in  temper,  and  urbane 
patience.  The  results  of  his  prolonged  training 
were  wonderful;  yet  again  and  again  he  found  it 
impossible  to  carry  out  his  idea  without  placing  his 
cousin  Mrs.  Stewart  at  the  vital  point  of  his  picture. 

260 


THE    INVADER 

She  was  certainly  not  the  most  physically  beautiful 
woman  there,  but  she  was  unrivalled  by  any  other 
in  the  grace,  the  variety,  the  meaning  of  her  gest 
ures,  the  dramatic  transformations  of  her  coun 
tenance.  She  was  Pandora,  she  was  Hope,  she 
was  Lady  Hammerton,  she  was  the  Vampire,  and 
she  was  the  Queen  of  Faerie. 

There  is  jealousy  on  the  amateur  stage  as  well 
as  on  the  professional,  and  ladies  of  social  position, 
accustomed  to  see  their  beauty  lauded  in  the  news 
papers,  saw  no  reason  why  Mrs.  Stewart  should 
be  thrust  to  the  front  of  half  of  the  pictures.  Lady 
Langham,  the  "smart"  Socialist,  with  whom 
George  Goring  had  flirted  last  season,  to  Lady 
Augusta's  real  dismay,  was  the  leading  rival  candi 
date  for  Mildred's  roles.  But  Lady  Langham  never 
guessed  that  Mrs.  Stewart  was  the  cause  of  George 
Goring's  disappearance  from  the  list  of  her  admir 
ers,  and  she  still  had  hopes  of  his  return. 

The  tableaux  were  a  brilliant  success.  Ian  was 
there  on  the  first  evening,  so  was  Lady  Augusta 
Goring.  Lady  Langham,  peeping  through  the  cur 
tains,  saw  her,  and  swept  the  horizon — that  is,  the 
circle  of  black  coats  around  the  walls — in  vain  for 
George  Goring.  Then  Lady  Augusta  became  audi 
ble,  saying  that  in  the  present  state  of  affairs  in 
the  House  it  was  quite  impossible  for  Mr.  Goring  to 
leave  it,  even  for  dinner,  on  that  evening  or  the 
next.  Nevertheless,  on  the  next  evening,  Lady 
Langham  espied  George  Goring  in  the  act  of  taking 
a  vacant  chair  near  the  front,  next  to  a  social 
protegee  of  her  own.  She  turned  and  mentioned 

261 


TEE   INVADER 

the  fact  to  a  friend,  who  smiled  meaningly  and  re 
marked,  "In  spite  of  Lady  Augusta's  whip!" 

Mildred,  passing,  caught  the  information,  the 
comment,  the  smile.  During  the  rehearsals  for  the 
tableaux,  she  had  heard  people  coupling  the  names 
of  Goring  and  Lady  Langham,  not  seriously,  yet 
seriously  enough  for  her.  A  winged  shaft  of  jeal 
ousy  pierced  at  once  her  heart  and  her  pride.  Was 
she  allowing  her  whole  inner  life  to  be  shaken, 
dissolved  by  the  passing  admiration  of  a  flirt? 
Her  intimate  self  had  assurance  that  it  was  not  so ; 
but  sometimes  a  colder  wind,  blowing  she  knew 
not  whence,  or  the  lash  of  a  chance  word,  threw 
her  into  the  attitude  of  a  chance  observer,  one  who 
sees,  guesses,  does  not  know. 

Meantime  George  Goring  had  flung  himself 
down  in  the  only  vacant  chair  he  could  see,  and 
careless  of  the  brilliant  company  about  him,  care 
less  even  of  the  face  of  Aphrodite  herself,  smiling 
divinely,  unconcerned  with  human  affairs,  from  a 
far  corner  he  waited  for  the  curtain  to  go  up.  His 
neighbor  spoke.  She  had  met  him  at  the  Lang- 
hams  last  season.  What  a  pity  he  had  just  missed 
Lady  Langham's  great  tableau,  "Helen  before  the 
Elders  of  Troy"!  There  was  no  one  to  be  com 
pared  to  Maud  Langham,  so  beautiful,  so  clever! 
She  would  have  made  her  fortune  if  she  had  gone 
on  the  sta  e.  Goring  gave  the  necessary  assent. 

The  curtain  went  up,  exhibiting  a  picture  called 
"The  Vampire."  It  was  smaller  than  most  and 
shown  by  a  curious  pale  light.  A  fair  young  girl  was 
lying  in  a  deep  sleep  on  a  curtained  bed,  and  hov- 

262 


THfi    INVADER 

ering,  crawling  over  her  with  a  deadly,  serpentine 
grace,  was  a  white  figure  wrapped  in  a  veiling  gar 
ment  that  might  have  been  a  shroud.  Out  of  white 
cerements  showed  a  trail  of  yellow  hair  and  a  face 
alabaster  white,  save  for  the  lips  that  were  blood 
red — an  intent  face  with  a  kind  of  terrible  beauty, 
yet  instinct  with  cruelty.  One  slender,  bloodless 
hand  was  in  the  girl's  hair,  and,  even  without  the 
title,  it  would  have  been  plain  that  there  was  a 
deadly  purpose  in  that  creeping  figure. 

"Isn't  it  horrid?"  whispered  Goring's  neighbor. 
"Fancy  that  Mrs.  Stewart  letting  herself  be  made 
to  look  so  dreadful!" 

"Who?"  asked  Goring,  horrified.  He  had  not 
recognized  Mildred. 

"Why,  the  girl  on  the  bed's  Gertrude  Waters, 
and  the  Vampire's  a  cousin  of  Sir  Cyril  Meres. 
A  horrid  little  woman  some  people  admire,  but  I 
shouldn't  think  any  one  would  after  this.  I  call  it 
disgusting,  don't  you?" 

"It's  horrible!"  gasped  George;  "it  oughtn't  to 
be  allowed.  What  does  that  fellow  Meres  mean  by 
inventing  such  deviltries  ?  By  Jove,  I  should  like 
to  thrash  him!" 

The  neighbor  stared.  It  was  all  very  well  to 
be  horrified  at  Mrs.  Stewart,  but  why  this  par 
ticular  form  of  horror  ? 

"Please  call  me  when  it's  over,"  said  Goring, 
putting  his  head  down  between  his  hands. 

What  an  eccentric  young  man  he  was!  But 
clever  people  often  were  eccentric. 

In  due  course  the  tableau  was  over,  and  to  the 
263 


THE    INVADER 

relief  of  one  spectator  at  least,  it  was  not  encored. 
The  next  was  some  harmless  domestic  scene  with 
people  in  short  waists.  George  Goring  looked  in 
vain  for  Mildred  among  them,  longing  to  see  her,  the 
real  lovely  her,  and  forget  the  horrible  thing  she  had 
portrayed.  Lady  Langham  was  there,  and  his  neigh 
bor  commended  her  tediously,  convinced  of  pleasing. 
There  followed  a  large  and  very  beautiful  picture 
in  the  manner  of  a  great  English  Pre-Raphaelite. 
This  was  called  "Thomas  the  Rhymer,  meeting 
with  the  Faerie  Queen,"  but  it  did  not  follow  the 
description  of  the  ballad.  The  Faerie  Queen,  a 
figure  of  a  Botticellian  grace,  was  coming,  with  all 
her  fellowship,  out  of  a  wonderful  pine-wood,  while 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  handsome  and  young  and 
lean  and  brown,  his  harp  across  his  back,  had  just 
crossed  a  mountain  -  stream  by  a  rough  bridge. 
He  appeared  suddenly  to  have  beheld  her,  pausing 
above  him  before  descending  the  heathery  bank 
that  edged  the  wood;  and  looking  in  her  face,  to 
have  entered  at  once  into  the  land  of  Faerie.  The 
pose,  the  figure,  the  face  of  the  Faerie  Queen  were 
of  the  most  exquisite  charm  and  beauty,  touched 
with  a  something  of  romance  and  mystery  that  no 
other  woman  there  except  Mildred  could  have  lent 
it.  The  youth  who  personated  Thomas  the  Rhym 
er  was  temporarily  in  love  with  Mrs.  Stewart  and 
acted  his  part  with  intense  expression.  Goring, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  fixed  them  upon 
her  as  long  as  he  dared ;  then  glanced  at  the  Rhymer 
and  was  angry.  He  turned  to  his  chattering  neigh 
bor  and  asked : 

264 


THE    INVADER 

'  "  Who's  the  chap  doing  Thomas  ?  Looks  as  if  he 
wanted  a  wash." 

"I  don't  know.  Nobody  particular,  I  should 
think.  Wasn't  it  a  pity  they  didn't  have  Lady 
Langham  for  the  Faerie  Queen?  I  do  call  it  ab 
surd  the  way  Sir  Cyril  Meres  has  put  that  pert, 
insignificant  cousin  of  his  forward  in  quite  half  the 
pictures  —  and  when  he  might  have  had  Maud 
Langham." 

Goring  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laugh 
ed  his  quite  loud  laugh. 

"  '  A  mad  world,  my  masters,' "  he  quoted. 

His  neighbor  took  this  for  Mr.  Goring's  eccentric 
way  of  approving  her  sentiments.  But  what  he 
really  meant  was:  What  a  strange  masquerade  is 
the  world!  This  neighbor  of  his,  so  ordinary,  so 
desirous  to  please,  would  have  shuddered  at  the 
notion  of  hinting  to  him  the  patent  fact  that  Lady 
Augusta  Goring  was  a  tiring  woman;  while  she 
pressed  upon  him  laudations  of  a  person  to  whom 
he  was  perfectly  indifferent,  mingled  with  insulting 
comments  on  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for  him 
— the  woman  who  was  his  world,  without  whom 
nothing  was;  on  her  whose  very  name,  even  on 
these  silly,  hostile  lips,  gave  him  a  strong  sensation, 
whether  of  pain  or  pleasure  he  could  hardly  tell. 

After  the  performance  he  constrained  himself  to 
go  the  round  of  the  ladies  of  his  acquaintance  who 
had  been  acting  and  compliment  them  cleverly  and 
with  good  taste.  Lady  Langham  of  course  seized  the 
lion's  share  of  his  company  and  his  compliments. 
He  seemed  to  address  only  a  few  remarks  of  the 

265 


THE    INVADER 

same  nature  to  Mrs.  Stewart,  but  he  had  watched 
his  opportunity  and  was  able  to  say  to  her: 

"  I  must  leave  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  latest. 
Please  let  me  drive  you  back.  You  won't  say  no  ?" 

There  was  a  pleading  note  in  the  last  phrase  and 
his  eyes  met  hers  gravely,  anxiously.  It  wTas  evi 
dent  that  she  must  answer  immediately,  while  their 
neighbors'  attention  was  distracted  from  them.  She 
was  pale  before  under  her  stage  make-up,  and  now 
she  grew  still  paler. 

"Thanks.  I  told  Cousin  Cyril  I  was  tired  and 
shouldn't  stay  long.  I'll  go  and  change  at  once." 

Then  Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  at  her  elbow  again, 
bringing  her  something  for  which  she  had  sent  him. 

The  green-room,  in  which  she  resumed  the  old 
white  lace  evening -dress  that  she  had  worn  to 
dine  with  her  cousin,  was  strewn  with  the  delicate 
underclothing,  the  sumptuous  wraps  and  costly 
knick-knacks  of  wealthy  women.  She  had  felt 
ashamed,  as  she  had  undressed  there,  of  her  own 
poor  little  belongings  among  these ;  and  ashamed 
to  be  so  ashamed.  As  she  had  seen  her  garments 
overswept  by  the  folds  of  the  fair  Socialist's  white 
velvet  mantle,  lined  with  Arctic  fox  and  clasped 
with  diamonds,  she  had  smiled  ironically  at  the 
juxtaposition.  Since  circumstances  and  her  own 
gifts  had  drawn  her  into  the  stream  of  the  world, 
she  had  been  more  and  more  conscious,  however 
unwillingly,  of  a  longing  for  luxuries,  for  rich  set 
tings  to  her  beauty,  for  some  stage  upon  which  her 
brilliant  personality  might  shine  uplifted,  secure. 
For  she  seemed  to  herself  sometimes  like  a  tumbler 

266 


THE    INVADER 

at  a  fair,  struggling  in  the  crowd  for  a  space  in 
which  to  spread  his  carpet.  Now — George  Goring 
loved  her.  Let  the  others  keep  their  furs  and  laces 
and  gewgaws,  their  great  fortunes  or  great  names. 
Yet  if  it  had  been  possible  for  her  to  take  George 
Goring's  love,  he  could  have  given  her  mo  t  of 
these  things  as  well 

Wrapped  in  a  gauzy  white  scarf,  she  seemed  to 
float  rather  than  walk  down  the  stairs  into  the  hall, 
where  Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  lingering,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  an  excuse  to  escort  her  home.  She  was 
pale,  with  a  clear,  beautiful  pallor,  a  strange  smile 
was  on  her  lips  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars.  The 
Queen  of  Faerie  had  looked  less  lovely,  meeting 
him  on  the  edge  of  the  wood.  She  nodded  him 
good-night  and  passed  quickly  on  into  the  porch. 
With  a  boyish  pang  he  saw  her  vanish,  not  into 
the  darkness  of  night,  but  into  the  blond  interior 
of  a  smart  brougham.  A  young  man,  also  smart — 
her  husband,  for  aught  he  knew — paused  on  the 
step  to  give  orders  to  the  coachman,  and  followed 
her  in.  A  moment  he  saw  her  dimly,  in  the  glare 
of  carriage-lamps,  a  white  vision,  half  eclipsed  by 
the  black  silhouette  of  the  man  at  her  side;  then 
they  glided  away  over  the  crunching  gravel  of  the 
drive,  into  the  fiery  night  of  London. 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  went  off  well  ?"  she  asked, 
as  they  passed  through  the  gates  into  the  street. 
George  was  taking  off  his  hat  and  putting  it  down 
on  the  little  shelf  opposite.  He  leaned  back  and 
was  silent  a  few  seconds;  then  starting  forward, 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  knee. 

267 


THE    INVADER 

"Don't  let's  waste  time  like  that,  Mildred,"  he 
said  —  and  although  he  had  never  called  her  so 
before,  it  seemed  natural  that  he  should  — "  we 
haven't  got  much.  You  know,  don't  you,  why  I 
asked  you  to  drive  with  me?" 

She  in  her  turn  was  silent  a  moment,  then  meet 
ing  his  eyes: 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quite  simply  and  courageously. 

"  I  thought  you  could  hardly  help  seeing  I  loved 
you,  however  blind  other  people  might  be." 

Her  head  was  turned  away  again  and  she  looked 
out  of  the  window,  as  she  answered  in  a  voice  that 
tried  to  be  light: 

"  But  it  isn't  of  any  consequence,  is  it  ?  I  sup 
pose  you're  always  in  love  with  somebody  or  other." 

"Is  that  what  people  told  you  about  me?" — and 
it  was  new  and  wonderful  to  her  to  hear  George 
Goring  speak  with  this  calmness  and  gravity — 
"You've  not  been  long  in  the  world,  little  girl,  or 
you'd  know  how  much  to  believe  of  what's  said 
there." 

"No,"  she  answered,  in  turn  becoming  calm  and 
deliberate.  "When  I  come  to  think  of  it,  people 
only  say  that  women  generally  like  you  and  that 
you  flirt  with  them.  I — I  invented  the  rest." 

"  But,  good  Heavens !  Why  ?"  There  was  a  note 
of  pain  and  wonder  in  his  voice. 

She  paused,  and  his  hand  moved  under  her  cloak 
to  be  laid  on  the  two  slender  hands  clasped  on  her 
lap. 

"  I  suppose  I  was  jealous,"  she  said. 

He  smiled. 

268 


THE    INVADER 

"  Absurd  child !  But  I'm  a  bit  of  an  ass  that  way 
myself.  I  was  jealous  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer  this 
evening." 

"That  brat!" 

She  laughed  low,  the  sweet  laugh  that  was  like 
no  one  else's.  It  was  past  midnight  and  the  streets 
were  comparatively  quiet  and  dark,  but  at  that 
moment  they  were  whirled  into  a  glare  of  strong 
light.  They  looked  in  each  other's  eyes  in  silence, 
his  hand  tightening  its  hold  upon  hers.  Then  again 
they  plunged  into  wavering  dimness,  and  he  resumed, 
gravely  and  calmly  as  before,  but  bending  nearer  her. 

"  If  I  weren't  anxious  to  tell  you  the  exact  truth, 
to  avoid  exaggeration,  I  should  say  I  fell  in  love 
with  you  the  first  time  I  met  you.  It  seems  to  me 
now  as  though  it  had  been  so.  And  the  second  time 
— you  remember  it  was  one  very  hot  day  last  July, 
when  we  both  lunched  with  Meres — I  hadn't  the 
least  doubt  that  if  I  had  been  free  and  you  also,  I 
should  have  left  no  stone  unturned  to  get  you  for 
my  wife." 

Every  word  was  sweet  to  her,  yet  she  answered 
sombrely : 

"  But  we  are  not  free." 

He,  disregarding  the  answer,  went  on : 

"  You  love  me,  as  I  love  you  ?" 

"As  you  love  me,  dearest;  and  from  the  first." 

A  minute's  silence,  while  the  hands  held  each 
other  fast.  Then  low,  triumphantly,  he  exclaimed : 
"Well?" 

Her  slim  hands  began  to  flutter  a  little  in  his  as 
she  answered  all  that  that  "Well"  implied. 

269 


THE    INVADER 

"  It's  impossible,  dear.  It's  no  use  arguing  about 
it.  It's  just  waste  of  time — and  we've  only  got 
this  little  time." 

"To  do  what?  To  make  love  in?  Dear,  we've 
got  all  our  lives  if  we  please.  We've  both  made  a 
tremendous  mistake,  we've  both  got  a  chance  now 
of  going  back  on  it,  of  setting  our  lives  right  again, 
making  them  better  indeed  than  we  ever  dreamed 
of  their  being.  We  inflict  some  loss  on  other  peo 
ple —  no  loss  comparable  to  our  gain  —  we  hurt 
them  chiefly  because  of  their  bloated  ideas  of  their 
claims  on  us.  I  know  you've  weighed  things,  have 
no  prejudices.  Rules,  systems,  are  made  for  types 
and  classes,  not  for  us.  You  belong  to  no  type, 
Mildred.  I  belong  to  no  class." 

She  answered  low,  painfully: 

"  It's  true  I  am  unlike  other  people ;  that's  the 
very  reason  why — I — I'm  not  good  to  love."  There 
was  a  low  utterance  that  was  music  in  her  ears, 
yet  she  continued:  "Then,  dear  friend,  think  of 
your  career,  ruined  for  me,  by  me.  You  might  be 
happy  for  a  while,  then  you'd  regret  it." 

"That's  where  you're  wrong.  My  career?  A 
rotten  little  game,  these  House  of  Commons  party 
politics,  when  you  get  into  it!  The  big  things  go 
on  outside  them ;  there's  all  the  world  outside  them. 
Anyhow,  my  career,  as  I  planned  it,  is  ruined  al 
ready.  The  Ipswich  gang  have  collared  me;  I  can't 
call  my  tongue  my  own,  Mildred.  Think  of  that!" 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"Temporary,  George!  You'll  soon  have  your 
head  up — and  your  tongue  out." 

270 


THE   INVADER 

"  Oh,  from  time  to  time,  I  presume,  I  shall  always 
be  the  Horrid  Vulgar  Boy  of  those  poor  Barthops ; 
I  shall  kick  like  a  galvanized  frog  long  after  I'm 
dead.  But — I  wouldn't  confess  it  to  any  one  but 
you,  dear — I'm  not  strong  enough  to  stand  against 
the  everlasting  pressure  that's  brought  to  bear  upon 
me.  You  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you?" 

"  Yes.  You'll  be  no  good  if  you  let  the  originality 
be  squeezed  out  of  you.  Don't  allow  it." 

"Nothing  can  prevent  it  —  unless  the  Faerie 
Queen  will  stretch  out  her  dearest,  sweetest  hands 
to  me  and  lead  me,  poor  mortal,  right  away  into 
the  wide  world,  into  some  delightful  country  where 
there's  plenty  of  love  and  no  politics.  I  want  love 
so  much,  Mildred ;  I've  never  had  it,  and  no  one  has 
ever  guessed  how  much  I  wanted  it  except  you,  dear 
— except  you." 

Yes,  she  had  guessed.  The  queer  childhood,  so 
noisy  yet  so  lonely,  had  been  spoken  of ;  the  married 
life  spoke  for  itself. 

His  arm  was  around  her  now,  their  faces  drawn 
close  together,  and  in  the  pale,  faint  light  they 
looked  each  other  deep  in  the  eyes.  Then  their 
lips  met  in  a  long  kiss. 

"You  see  how  it  is,"  he  whispered;  "you  can't 
help  it.  It's  got  to  be.  No  one  has  power  to  pre 
vent  it." 

But  he  spoke  without  knowledge,  for  there  was 
one  who  had  power  to  prevent  it,  one  conquered, 
helpless,  less  than  a  ghost,  who  yet  could  lay  an 
icy  hand  on  the  warm,  high -beating  heart  of  her  sub- 
duer,  and  say:  "Love  and  desire,  the  pride  of  life 

271 


THE    INVADER 

and  the  freedom  of  the  world,  are  not  for  you.  I 
forbid  them  to  you — I — by  a  power  stronger  than 
the  laws  of  God  or  man.  True,  you  have  no  hus 
band,  you  have  no  child,  for  those  who  seem  to  be 
yours  are  mine.  You  have  taken  them  from  me, 
and  now  you  must  keep  them,  whether  you  will  or 
no.  You  have  taken  my  life  from  me,  and  my  life 
you  must  have,  that  and  none  other." 

It  was  against  this  unknown  and  inflexible  power 
that  George  Goring  struggled  with  all  the  might 
of  his  love,  and  absolutely  in  vain.  Between  him 
and  Mildred  there  could  be  no  lies,  no  subterfuges ; 
only  that  one  silence  which  to  him,  of  all  others, 
she  dared  not  break. 

She  seemed  to  have  been  engaged  in  this  struggle, 
at  once  so  sweet  and  so  bitter,  for  an  eternity  before 
she  stood  on  her  own  doorstep,  latch-key  in  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Goring.  So  much  obliged  for 
the  lift." 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure.  All  right  now?  Good 
night.  Drop  me  at  the  House,  Edwards." 

He  lifted  his  hat,  stepped  in  and  closed  the 
carriage-door  sharply  behind  him ;  and  in  a  minute 
the  brougham  with  its  lights  rolling  almost  noise 
lessly  behind  the  big  fast-trotting  bay  horse,  had 
disappeared  around  a  neighboring  corner. 

The  house  was  cold  and  dark,  except  for  a  candle 
which  burned  on  an  oak  dresser  in  the  narrow  hall. 
As  Mildred  dragged  herself  up  the  stairs,  she  had  a 
sensation  of  physical  fatigue,  almost  bruisedness, 
as  though  she  had  come  out  of  some  actual  bodily 

272 


THE    INVADER 

combat.  Her  room,  fireless  and  cold,  was  solitary, 
for  lan's  sleep  had  to  be  protected  from  disturb 
ance.  Nevertheless,  having  loosened  her  wraps, 
she  threw  herself  on  the  bed  and  lay  there  long,  her 
bare  arms  under  her  head.  The  sensation  of  chill, 
her  own  cold  soft  flesh  against  her  face,  seemed  to 
brace  her  mind  and  body,  to  restore  her  powers  of 
clear,  calm  judgment,  so  unlike  the  usual  short 
sighted,  emotionalized  judgments  of  youth.  She 
had  nothing  of  the  ordinary  woman's  feeling  of  guilt 
towards  her  husband.  The  intimate  bond  between 
herself  and  George  Goring  did  not  seem  in  any  rela 
tion  the  accidental  one  between  her  and  Ian  Stew 
art.  She  had  never  before  faced  the  question,  the 
possibility  of  a  choice  between  the  two.  Now  she 
weighed  it  with  characteristic  swiftness  and  decision. 
She  reasoned  that  Ian  had  enjoyed  a  period  of  great 
happiness  in  his  marriage  with  her,  in  spite  of  the 
singularity  of  its  conditions;  but  that  now,  while 
Milly  could  never  satisfy  his  fastidious  nature,  she 
herself  had  grown  to  be  a  hinderance,  a  dissonance 
in  his  life.  Could  she  strike  a  blow  which  would 
sever  him  from  her,  he  would  suffer  cruelly,  no 
doubt;  but  it  would  send  him  back  again  to  the 
student's  life,  the  only  life  that  could  bring  him 
honor,  and  in  the  long  run  satisfaction.  And  that 
life  would  not  be  lonely,  because  Tony,  so  com 
pletely  his  father's  child,  would  be  with  him.  As 
for  herself  and  George  Goring,  she  had  no  fear  of 
the  future.  They  two  were  strong  enough  to  hew 
and  build  alone  their  own  Palace  of  Delight.  Her 
intuitive  knowledge  of  the  world  informed  her  that, 
is  273 


THE    INVADER 

in  the  long  run,  society,  if  firmly  disregarded,  ad 
mits  the  claim  of  certain  persons  to  go  their  own 
way — even  rapidly  admits  it,  though  they  be  the 
merest  bleating  strays  from  the  common  fold, 
should  they  haply  be  possessed  of  rank  or  fortune. 
The  way  lay  plain  enough  before  Mildred,  were  it 
not  for  that  Other.  But  she,  the  shadowy  one, 
deep  down  in  her  limbo,  laid  a  finger  on  the  gate 
of  that  Earthly  Paradise  and  held  it,  as  inflexibly 
as  any  armed  archangel,  against  the  master  key 
of  her  enemy's  intelligence,  the  passionate  assaults 
of  her  heart. 

Mildred,  however,  was  one  who  found  it  hard, 
if  not  impossible,  to  acquiesce  in  defeat.  Two 
o'clock  boomed  from  the  watching  towers  of  West 
minster  over  the  great  city.  She  rose  from  her 
bed,  cold  as  a  marble  figure  on  a  monument,  and 
went  to  the  dressing-table  to  take  off  her  few  and 
simple  ornaments.  The  mirror  on  it  was  the  same 
from  which  that  alien  smile  had  peered  twelve 
months  ago,  filling  the  sad  soul  of  Milly  with 
trembling  fear  and  sinister  foreboding.  The  white 
face  that  stole  into  its  shadowy  depths  to-night, 
and  looked  Mildred  in  the  eyes,  was  in  a  manner 
new  to  her  also.  It  had  a  new  seriousness,  a  new 
intensity,  as  of  a  woman  whose  vital  energies,  once 
spending  themselves  in  mere  corruscations,  in  mere 
action  for  action's  sake,  were  now  concentrated  on 
one  definite  thought,  one  purpose,  one  emotion, 
which  with  an  intense  yet  benign  fire  blended  in 
perfect  harmony  the  life  of  the  soul  and  of  the 
body. 

274 


THE    INVADER 

For  a  moment  the  face  in  its  gravity  recalled  to 
her  the  latest  photograph  of  Milly,  a  tragic  photo 
graph  she  did  not  care  to  look  at  because  it  touched 
her  with  a  pity,  a  remorse,  which  were  after  all 
quite  useless.  But  the  impression  was  false  and 
momentary. 

"No,"  she  said,  speaking  to  the  glass,  "it's  not 
really  like.  Poor  weak  woman !  I  understand  bet 
ter  now  what  you  have  suffered."  Then  almost  re 
peating  the  words  of  her  own  cruel  subconscious 
self — "  But  there's  all  the  difference  between  the 
weak  and  the  strong.  I  am  the  stronger,  and  the 
stronger  must  win;  that's  written,  and  it's  no  use 
struggling  against  the  law  of  nature." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

/"^EORGE  GORING  was  never  so  confident  in 
V_JT  himself  as  when  he  was  fighting  an  apparently 
losing  game ;  and  the  refusal  of  Mildred  to  come  to 
him,  a  refusal  based,  as  he  supposed,  on  nothing  but 
an  insurmountable  prejudice  against  doing  what 
was  not  respectable,  struck  him  as  a  stage  in  their 
relations  rather  than  as  the  end  of  them.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  see  her  until  the  close  of  the  Easter 
Vacation.  People  began  to  couple  their  names,  but 
lightly,  without  serious  meaning,  for  Goring  being 
popular  with  women,  had  a  somewhat  exaggerated 
reputation  as  a  flirt.  When  a  faithful  cousin  hint 
ed  things  about  him  and  Mrs.  Stewart  to  Lady 
Augusta,  she  who  believed  herself  to  have  seen  a 
number  of  similar  temporary  enslavers,  put  the  mat 
ter  by,  really  glad  that  a  harmless  nobody  should 
have  succeeded  to  Maud  Langham  with  her  dan 
gerous  opinions. 

Ian  Stewart  on  his  side  was  barely  acquainted 
with  Goring.  Sir  John  Ireton  and  the  newspapers 
informed  him  that  George  Goring  was  a  flashy, 
untrustworthy  politician ;  and  the  former  added  that 
he  was  a  terrible  nuisance  to  poor  Lord  Ipswich  and 
Lady  Augusta.  That  such  a  man  could  attract  Mil 
dred  would  never  have  occurred  to  him. 

276 


THE    INVADER 

The  fear  of  Milly's  return,  which  she  could  not 
altogether  banish,  still  at  times  checked  and  re 
strained  Mildred.  Could  she  but  have  secured 
Tims's  assistance  in  keeping  Milly  away,  she 
would  have  felt  more  confident  of  success.  It  was 
hopeless  to  appeal  directly  to  the  hypnotist,  but 
her  daring  imagination  began  to  conceive  a  situa 
tion  in  which  mere  good  sense  and  humanity  must 
compel  Tims  to  forbid  the  return  of  Milly  to  a  life 
made  impossible  for  her.  She  had  not  seen  Tims 
for  many  weeks,  not  since  the  Easter  Vacation, 
which  had  already  receded  into  a  remote  distance ; 
so  far  had  she  journeyed  since  then  along  the  path 
of  her  fate.  Nor  had  she  so  much  as  wondered  at 
not  seeing  Tims.  But  now  her  mind  was  turned 
to  consider  the  latent  power  which"  that  strange 
creature  held  over  her  life,  her  dearest  interests; 
since  how  might  not  Milly  comport  herself  with 
George  ? 

Then  it  was  that  she  realized  how  long  it  had 
been  since  Tims  had  crept  up  the  stairs  to  her  draw 
ing-room;  pausing  probably  in  the  middle  of  them 
to  wipe  away  with  hasty  pocket-handkerchief  some 
real  or  fancied  trace  of  her  foot  on  a  carpet  which 
she  condemned  as  expensive. 

Mildred  had  written  her  a  note,  but  it  was  hardly 
posted  when  the  door  was  flung  open  and  Miss  Tim- 
sort  was  formally  announced  by  the  parlor-maid. 
Tony,  who  was  looking  at  pictures  with  his  mother, 
rose  from  her  side,  prepared  to  take  a  hop,  skip, 
and  jump  and  land  with  his  arms  around  Tims's 
waist.  But  he  stopped  short  and  contemplated  her 

277 


THE    INVADER 

with  round -eyed  solemnity.  The  ginger  -  colored 
man's  wig  had  developed  into  a  frizzy  fringe  and 
the  rest  6'f  the  coiffure  of  the  hour.  A  large  pict 
ure  hat  surmounted  it,  and  her  little  person  was 
clothed  in  a  vivid  heliotrope  dress  of  the  latest 
mode.  It  was  a  handsome  dress,  a  handsome 
hat,  a  handsome  wig,  yet  somehow  the  effect 
was  jarring.  Tony  felt  vaguely  shocked.  "  Bless 
»thee!  Thou  art  translated!"  he  might  have  cried 
with  Quince ;  but  being  a  polite  child,  he  said  noth 
ing,  only  put  out  a  small  hand  sadly.  Tims,  how 
ever,  unconscious  of  the  slight  chill  cast  by  her  ap 
pearance,  kissed  him  in  a  perfunctory,  patronizing 
way,  as  ladies  do  who  are  afraid  of  disarranging 
their  veils.  She  greeted  Mildred  also  with  a  parade 
of  mundane  elegance,  and  sat  down  deliberately  on 
the  sofa,  spreading  out  her  heliotrope  skirts. 

"You  can  run  away  just  now,  little  man,"  she 
said  to  Tony.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  your  mother." 

"How  smart  you  are!"  observed  Mildred,  seeing 
that  comment  of  some  kind  would  be  welcome. 
"Been  to  Sir  James  Carus's  big  party  at  the  Mu 
seum,  I  suppose.  You're  getting  a  personage,  Tims. ' ' 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  look  in  later,  but  I  shouldn't 
trouble  to  dress  up  for  that,  my  girl.  Clothes 
would  be  quite  wasted  there.  But  I  think  one 
should  always  try  to  look  decent,  don't  you  ?  One's 
men  like  it." 

Mildred  smiled. 

"I  suppose  Ian  would  notice  it  if  I  positively 
wasn't  decent.  But,  Tims,  dear,  does  old  Carus 
really  criticise  your  frocks?" 

278 


THE    INVADER 

For  indeed  the  distinguished  scientist,  Miss  Tim- 
son's  chief,  was  the  only  man  she  could  think  of 
to  whom  Tims  could  possibly  apply  the  possessive 
adjective.  Tims  bridled. 

"Of  course  not;  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Fitzalan." 

That  she  had  for  years  been  very  kind  to  a  lonely 
little  man  of  that  name  who  lived  in  the  same  block 
of  chambers,  Mildred  knew,  but — Heavens!  Even 
Mildred's  presence  of  mind  failed  her,  and  she  stared. ' 
Meeting  her  amazed  eye,  Tims's  borrowed  smile 
suddenly  broke  its  bounds  and  became  her  own  fa 
miliar  grin,  only  more  so : 

"We're  engaged,"  she  said. 

"My  dear  Tims!"  exclaimed  Mildred,  suppressing 
an  inclination  to  burst  out  laughing.  "What  a 
surprise!" 

"I  quite  thought  you'd  have  been  prepared  for 
it,"  returned  Tims.  "A  bit  stupid  of  you  not  to 
guess  it,  don't  you  know,  old  girl.  We've  been 
courting  long  enough." 

Mildred  hastened  to  congratulate  the  strange 
bride  and  wish  her  happiness,  with  all  that  unusu 
al  grace  which  she  knew  how  to  employ  in  adorn 
ing  the  usual. 

"I  thought  I  should  like  you  to  be  the  first  to 
know,"  said  Tims,  sentimentally,  after  a  while; 
"because  I  was  your  bridesmaid,  you  see.  It  was 
the  prettiest  wedding  I  ever  saw,  and  I  should  love 
to  have  a  wedding  like  yours — all  of  us  carrying 
lilies,  you  know." 

"  I  remember  there  were  green  stains  on  my  wed 
ding-dress,"  returned  Mildred,  with  forced  gayety. 

279 


THE    INVADER 

Tims,  temporarily  oblivious  of  all  awkward  cir 
cumstances,  continued,  still  more  sentimentally: 

"Then  I  was  there,  as  I've  told  you,  when  lan's 
pop  came  to  poor  old  M.  Poor  old  girl!  She  was 
awfully  spifligatingly  happy,  and  I  feel  just  the 
same  now  myself."  , 

"Well,  it  wasn't  I,  anyhow,  who  felt  'awfully 
spifligatingly  happy'  on  that  occasion,"  replied 
Mildred,  with  a  touch  of  asperity  in  her  voice. 

Tims,  legitimately  absorbed  in  her  own  feelings, 
did  not  notice  it.  She  continued: 

"  I  dare  say  the  world  will  say  Mr.  Fitzalan  had 
an  eye  on  my  money;  and  it's  true  I've  done  pretty 
well  with  my  investments.  But,  bless  you!  he 
hadn't  a  notion  of  that.  You  see,  I  was  brought  up 
to  be  stingy,  and  I  enjoy  it.  He  thought  of  course 
I  was  a  pauper,  and  proposed  we  should  pauper 
along  together.  He  was  quite  upset  when  he  found 
I  was  an  heiress.  Wasn't  it  sweet  of  him?" 

Mildred  said  it  was. 

"Flora  Fitzalan!"  breathed  Tims,  clasping  her 
hands  and  smiling  into  space.  "Isn't  it  a  pretty 
name?  It's  always  been  my  dream  to  have  a 
pretty  name."  Then  suddenly,  as  though  in  a 
flash  seeing  all  those  personal  disadvantages  which 
she  usually  contrived  to  ignore : 

"Life's  a  queer  lottery,  Mil,  my  girl.  We  know 
what  we  are,  we  know  not  what  we  shall  be,  as  old 
Billy  says.  Who'd  ever  have  thought  that  a  nice, 
quiet  girl  like  Milly,  marrying  the  lad  of  her  heart 
and  all  that,  would  come  to  such  awful  grief ;  while 
look  at  me — a  queer  kind  of  girl  you'd  have  laid 

280 


THE   INVADER 

your  bottom  dollar  wouldn't  have  much  luck, 
prospering  like  anything,  well  up  in  the  Science 
business,  and  now,  what's  ever  so  much  better, 
scrumptiously  happy  with  a  good  sort  of  her  own. 
Upon  my  word,  Mil,  I've  half  a  mind  to  fetch  old 
M.  back  to  sympathize  with  me,  for  although  you've 
said  a  peck  of  nice  things,  I  don't  believe  you  un 
derstand  what  I'm  feeling  the  way  the  old  girl 
would." 

Mildred  went  a  little  pale  and  spoke  quickly. 

"You  won't  do  that  really,  Tims?  You  won't 
be  so  cruel  to — to  every  one?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  see  why  you're  always 
to  be  jolly  and  have  everything  your  own  way. 
Oh,  Lord!  When  I  think  how  happy  old  M.  was 
when  she  was  engaged,  the  same  as  I  am,  and  then 
on  her  wedding-day — just  the  same  as  I  shall  be  on 
mine." 

Mildred  straightened  out  the  frill  of  a  muslin 
cushion  cover,  her  head  bent. 

"  Just  so.  She  had  everything  her  own  way  that 
time.  I  gave  her  that  happiness,  it  was  all  my 
doing.  She's  had  it  and  she  ought  to  be  content. 
Don't  be  a  fool,  Tims — "  she  lifted  her  face  and 
Tims  was  startled  by  its  expression — "Can't  you 
see  how  hard  it  is  on  me  never  to  be  allowed  the 
happiness  you've  got  and  Milly's  had  ?  Don't  you 
think  I  might  care  to  know  what  love  is  like  for 
myself?  Don't  you  think  I  might  happen  to 
want — I  tell  you  I'm  a  million  times  more  alive 
than  Milly — and  I  want — I  want  everything  a  mill 
ion  times  more  than  she  does." 

281 


THE   INVADER 

Tims  was  astonished. 

"But  it's  always  struck  me,  don't  you  know, 
that  Ian  was  a  deal  more  in  love  with  you  than  he 
ever  was  with  poor  old  M." 

"  And  you  pretend  to  be  in  love  and  think  that's 
enough !  It's  not  enough ;  you  must  know  it's  not. 
It's  like  sitting  at  a  Barmecide  feast,  very  hungry, 
only  the  Barmecide's  sitting  opposite  you  eating 
all  the  time  and  talking  about  his  food.  I  tell 
you  it's  maddening,  perfectly  maddening —  There 
was  a  fierce  vehemence  in  her  face,  her  voice,  the 
clinch  of  her  slender  hands  on  the  muslin  frill. 
That  strong  vitality  which  before  had  seemed  to 
carry  her  lightly  as  on  wings,  over  all  the  rough 
places  of  life,  had  now  not  failed,  but  turned  itself 
inwards,  burning  in  an  intense  flame  at  once  of 
pain  and  of  rebellion  against  its  own  pain. 

Tims  in  the  midst  of  her  happiness,  felt  vaguely 
scared.  Mildred  seeing  it,  recovered  herself  and 
plunged  into  the  usual  engagement  talk.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  was  her  old  beguiling  self — the  self  to 
whose  charm  Tims  was  as  susceptible  in  her  way 
as  Thomas  the  Rhymer  had  been  in  his. 

When  she  had  left,  and  from  time  to  time  there 
after,  Tims  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable,  remember 
ing  Mildred's  outburst  of  vehement  bitterness  on 
the  subject  of  love.  It  was  so  unlike  her  usual 
careless  tone,  which  implied  that  it  was  men's 
business,  or  weakness,  to  be  in  love  with  women, 
and  that  only  second-rate  women  fell  in  love  them 
selves. 

Mildred  seemed  altogether  more  serious  than  she 

282 


THE    INVADER 

used  to  be,  and  Milly  herself  could  not  have  been 
more  sympathetic  over  the  engagement.  Even  Mr. 
Fitzalan,  when  Tims  brought  him  to  call  on  the 
Stewarts  was  not  afraid  of  her,  and  found  it  pos 
sible  to  say  a  few  words  in  reply  to  her  remarks. 
Tims's  ceremonious  way  of  speaking  of  her  be 
trothed,  whom  she  never  mentioned  except  as  Mr. 
Fitzalan,  made  Ian  reflect  with  sad  humor  on  the 
number  of  offensively  familiar  forms  of  address 
which  he  himself  had  endured  from  her,  and  on  the 
melancholy  certainty  that  she  had  never  spoken  of 
him  in  his  absence  by  any  name  more  respectful 
than  the  plain  unprefixed  "Stewart."  But  he 
hoped  that  the  excitement  of  her  engagement  had 
wiped  out  of  her  remembrance  that  afternoon  when 
poor  Milly  had  tried  to  return.  For  he  did  not  like 
to  think  of  that  moment  of  weekness  in  which  he 
had  allowed  Tims  to  divine  so  much  of  a  state  of 
mind  which  he  could  not  unveil  even  to  himself 
without  a  certain  shame. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HPHE  summer  was  reaching  its  height.  The 
I  weather  was  perfect.  Night  after  night  hot 
London  drawing-rooms  were  crowded  to  suffocation, 
awnings  sprang  mushroom  -  like  from  every  West 
End  pavement ;  the  sound  of  music  and  the  rolling 
of  carriages  made  night,  if  not  hideous,  at  least 
discordant  to  the  unconsidered  minority  who  went 
to  bed  as  usual.  Outside  in  the  country,  even  in 
the  suburbs,  June  came  in  glory,  with  woods  in 
freshest  livery  of  green,  with  fragrance  of  haw 
thorn  and  broom  and  gorse,  buttercup  meadows 
and  gardens  brimmed  with  roses.  It  seemed  to 
George  Goring  and  Mildred  as  though  somehow 
this  warmth,  this  gayety  and  richness  of  life  in  the 
earth  had  never  been  there  before,  but  that  Fate 
and  Nature,  of  which  their  love  was  part,  were 
leading  them  on  in  a  great  festal  train  to  the  inevi 
table  consummation.  The  flame  of  life  had  never 
burned  clearer  or  more  steadily  in  Mildred,  and 
every  day  she  felt  a  growing  confidence  in  hav 
ing  won  so  complete  a  possession  of  her  whole 
bodily  machinery  that  it  would  hardly  be  in  the 
power  of  Milly  to  dethrone  her.  The  sight  of 
George  Goring,  the  touch  of  his  hand,  the  very 
touch  of  his  garment,  gave  her  a  feeling  of  un- 

284 


THE    INVADER 

conquerable  life.  It  was  impossible  that  she  and 
George  should  part.  All  her  sanguine  and  daring 
nature  cried  out  to  her  that  were  she  once  his,  Milly 
should  not,  could  not,  return.  Tims,  too,  was  there 
in  reserve.  Not  that  Tims  would  feel  anything 
but  horror  at  Mildred's  conduct  in  leaving  Ian  and 
Tony ;  but  the  thing  done,  she  would  recognize  the 
impossibility  of  allowing  Milly  to  return  to  such  a 
situation. 

Ian,  whose  holidays  were  usually  at  the  inevita 
ble  periods,  was  by  some  extraordinary  collapse  of 
that  bloated  thing,  the  Academic  conscience,  going 
away  for  a  fortnight  in  June.  He  had  been  deputed 
to  attend  a  centenary  celebration  at  some  Ger 
man  University,  and  a  conference  of  savants  to  be 
held  immediately  after  it,  presented  irresistible  at 
tractions. 

One  Sunday  Tims  and  Mr.  Fitzalan  went  to 
Hampton  Court  with  the  usual  crowd  of  German, 
Italian,  and  French  hair-dressers,  waiters,  cooks, 
and  restaurant-keepers,  besides  native  cockneys  of 
all  classes  except  the  upper. 

The  noble  old  Palace  welcomed  this  mass  of  very 
common  humanity  with  such  a  pageant  of  beauty 
as  never  greeted  the  eyes  of  its  royal  builders. 
Centuries  of  sunshine  seem  to  have  melted  into  the 
rich  reds  and  grays  and  cream-color  of  its  walls, 
under  which  runs  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  flower- 
border,  a  glowing  mass  of  color,  yet  as  full  of 
delicate  and  varied  detail  as  the  border  of  an 
illuminated  missal.  Everywhere  this  modern  wealth 
and  splendor  of  flowers  is  arranged,  as  jewels  in  a 

285 


THE   INVADER 

setting,  within  the  architectural  plan  of  the  old  gar 
den.  There  the  dark  yews  retain  their  intended 
proportion,  the  silver  fountain  rises  where  it  was 
meant  to  rise,  although  it  sprinkles  new,  unthought- 
of  lilies.  Behind  it,  on  either  side  the  stately 
vista  of  water,  and  beside  it,  in  the  straight  alley, 
the  trees  in  the  freshness  and  fulness  of  their 
leafage,  stand  tall  and  green,  less  trim  and  solid  it 
may  be,  but  essentially  as  they  were  meant  to 
stand  when  the  garden  grew  long  ago  in  the  brain 
of  a  man.  And  out  there  beyond  the  terrace  the 
Thames  flows  quietly,  silverly  on,  seeming  to  shine 
with  the  memory  of  all  the  loveliness  those  gliding 
waters  have  reflected,  since  their  ripples  played 
with  the  long,  tremulous  image  of  Lechlade  spire. 

Seen  from  the  cool,  deep-windowed  rooms  of  the 
Palace,  where  now  the  pictures  hang  and  hundreds 
of  plebeian  feet  tramp  daily,  the  gardens  gave  forth 
a  burning  yet  pleasant  glow  of  heat  and  color  in 
the  full  sunshine.  Tims  and  Mr.  Fitzalan,  having 
eaten  their  frugal  lunch  early  under  the  blossoming 
chestnut-trees  in  Bushey  Park,  went  into  the  Picture 
Gallery  in  the  Palace  at  an  hour  when  it  happened 
to  be  almost  empty.  The  queer-looking  woman  not 
quite  young,  and  the  little,  bald,  narrow-chested, 
short-sighted  man,  would  not  have  struck  the  pass 
ers-by  as  being  a  pair  of  lovers.  A  few  sympathetic 
smiles,  however,  had  been  bestowed  upon  another 
couple  seated  in  the  deep  window  of  one  of  the 
smaller  rooms ;  a  pretty  young  woman  and  an  at 
tractive  man.  The  young  man  had  disposed  his  hat 
and  a  newspaper  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  make  it 

286 


THE    INVADER 

indecently  obvious  that  he  was  holding  her  hand. 
It  was  she  who  called  attention  to  the  fact  by  hasty 
attempts  to  snatch  it  away  when  people  came  in. 

"What  do  you  do  that  for?"  asked  the  young 
man.  "There's  not  the  slightest  chance  of  any 
one  we  know  coming  along." 

"But  George—" 

"  Do  try  and  adapt  yourself  to  your  milieu.  These 
people  are  probably  blaming  me  for  not  putting  my 
arm  around  your  waist." 

' '  George !  What  an  idiot  you  are ! ' '  She  laughed 
a  nervous  laugh. 

By  this  time  the  last  party  of  fat,  dark  young 
women  in  rainbow  hats,  and  narrow  -  shouldered, 
anaemic  young  men,  had  trooped  away  towards  food. 
Goring  waited  till  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  had 
ceased.  He  was  holding  Mildred's  hand,  but  he 
had  drawn  it  out  from  under  the  newspaper  now, 
and  the  gay  audacity  of  his  look  had  changed  to 
something  at  once  more  serious  and  more  masterful. 

"I  don't  like  your  seeming  afraid,  Mildred,"  he 
said.  "It  spoils  my  idea  of  you.  I  like  to  think 
of  you  as  a  high-spirited  creature,  conscious  enough 
of  your  own  worth  to  go  your  own  way  and  despise 
the  foolish  comments  of  the  crowd." 

To  hear  herself  so  praised  by  him  made  the  clear 
pink  rise  to  Mildred's  cheeks.  How  could  she  bear 
to  fall  below  the  level  of  his  expectation,  although 
the  thing  he  expected  of  her  had  dangers  of  which 
he  was  ignorant  ? 

"I'm  glad  you  believe  that  of  me,"  she  said; 
"  although  it's  not  quite  true.  I  cared  a  good  deal 

287 


THE    INVADER 

about  the  opinion  of  the  world  before — before  I 
knew  you ;  only  I  was  vain  enough  to  think  it  would 
never  treat  me  very  badly." 

"  It  won't,"  he  replied,  his  audacious  smile  flash 
ing  out  for  a  moment.  "It'll  come  sneaking  back 
to  you  before  long;  it  can't  keep  away.  Besides, 
I'm  cynic  enough  to  know  my  own  advantages, 
Mildred.  Society  doesn't  sulk  forever  with  wealthy 
people,  whatever  they  choose  to  do." 

She  answered  low:  "But  I  shouldn't  care  if  it 
did,  George.  I  want  you — just  to  go  right  away 
with  you." 

A  wonderful  look  of  joy  and  tenderness  came 
over  his  face.  "Mildred!  Can  it  really  be  you 
saying  that  ?"  he  breathed.  "  Really  you,  Mil 
dred?' 

They  looked  each  other  in  the  eyes  and  were 
silent  a  minute;  but  while  the  hand  next  the 
window  held  hers,  the  other  one  stole  out  farther 
to  clasp  her.  He  was  too  much  absorbed  in  that 
gaze  to  notice  anything  beyond  it;  but  Mildred 
was  suddenly  aware  of  steps  and  a  voice  in  the  ad 
joining  room.  Tims  and  Mr.  Fitzalan,  in  the  course 
of  a  conscientious  survey  of  all  the  pictures  on  the 
walls,  had  reached  this  point  in  their  progress. 
The  window-seat  on  which  Goring  and  Mildred  were 
sitting  was  visible  through  a  doorway,  and  Tims 
had  on  her  strongest  glasses. 

Since  her  engagement,  Tims's  old-maidish  bring 
ing  up  seemed  to  be  bearing  fruit  for  the  first  time. 

"I  think  we'd  better  cough  or  do  something," 
she  said.  "There's  a  couple  in  there  going  on  dis- 

288 


THE    INVADER 

gracefully.  I  do  think  spooning  in  public  such 
bad  form." 

"I  dare  say  they  think  they're  alone,"  returned 
the  charitable  Mr.  Fitzalan,  unable  to  see  the  de 
linquents  because  he  was  trying  to  put  a  loose  lens 
back  into  his  eye-glasses.  Tims  came~to  his  assist 
ance,  talking  loudly ;  and  her  voice  was  of  a  piercing 
quality.  Mildred,  leaning  forward,  saw  Mr.  Fitz 
alan  and  Tims,  both  struggling  with  eye-glasses. 
She  slipped  from  George's  encircling  arm  and  stood 
in  the  doorway  of  the  farther  room,  beckoning  to 
him  with  a  scared  face.  He  got  up  and  followed 
her. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  more  curious 
than  anxious ;  for  an  encounter  with  Lady  Augusta 
in  person  could  only  precipitate  a  crisis  he  was 
ready  to  welcome.  Why  should  one  simple,  defi 
nite  step  from  an  old  life  to  a  new  one,  which  his 
reason  as  much  as  his  passion  dictated,  be  so  in 
credibly  difficult  to  take? 

Mildred  hurried  him  away,  explaining  that  she 
had  seen  some  one  she  knew  very  well.  He  point 
ed  out  that  it  was  of  no  real  consequence.  She 
could  not  tell  him  that  if  Tims  suspected  anything 
before  the  decisive  step  was  taken,  one  of  the  safe 
guards  under  which  she  took  it  might  fail. 

They  found  no  exit  at  the  end  of  the  suite  of 
rooms,  still  less  any  place  of  concealment.  Tims 
and  Mr.  Fitzalan  came  upon  them  discussing  the 
genuineness  of  a  picture  in  the  last  room  but  one. 
When  Tims  saw  that  it  was  Mildred,  she  made  some 
of  the  most  dreadful  grimaces  she  had  ever  made 
19  289 


THE    INVADER 

in  her  life.  Making  them,  she  approached  Mildred, 
who  seeing  there  was  no  escape,  turned  around  and 
greeted  her  with  a  welcoming  smile. 

"Were  you — were  you  sitting  on  that  window- 
seat  ?"  asked  Tims,  fixing  her  with  eyes  that  seemed 
bent  on  piercing  to  her  very  marrow. 

Mildred  smiled  again,  with  a  broader  smile. 

"I  don't  know  about  'that  window-seat.'  I've 
sat  on  a  good  many  window-seats,  naturally,  since 
I  set  forth  on  this  pilgrimage.  Is  there  anything 
particular  about  that  one ?  I've  never  seen  Hamp 
ton  Court  before,  Mr.  Fitzalan,  so  as  some  people  I 
knew  were  coming  to-day,  I  thought  I'd  come  too. 
May  I  introduce  Mr.  Goring?" 

So  perfectly  natural  and  easy  was  Mildred's 
manner,  that  Tims  already  half  disbelieved  her  own 
eyes.  They  must  have  played  her  some  trick ;  yet 
how  could  that  be  ?  She  recalled  the  figures  in  the 
window-seat,  as  seen  with  all  the  peculiar,  artificial 
distinctness  conferred  by  strong  glasses.  The  young 
man  called  Goring  had  smiled  into  the  hidden  face 
of  his  companion  in  a  manner  that  Tims  could  not 
approve.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  as  soon  as 
she  had  leisure  she  would  call  on  Mildred  and  ques 
tion  her  once  more,  and  more  straitly,  concerning 
the  mystery  of  that  window-seat. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ON  Monday  and  Tuesday  an  interesting  experi 
ment  which  she  was  conducting  under  Carus 
claimed  Tims's  whole  attention,  except  for  the 
evening  hours,  which  were  dedicated  to  Mr.  Fitz- 
alan.  But  she  wrote  to  say  that  Mildred  might 
expect  her  to  tea  on  Wednesday.  On  Wednesday 
the  post  brought  her  a  note  from  Mildred,  dated 
Tuesday,  midnight. 

"  DEAR  TIMS, — I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  me  to-mor 
row  afternoon,  as  I  am  going  out  of  town.  But  do  go  to 
tea  with  Tony,  who  is  just  back  from  the  sea  and  looking 
bonny.  He  is  such  a  darling!  I  always  mind  leaving 
him,  although  of  course  I  am  not  his  mother.  Oh,  dear,  I 
am  so  sleepy,  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  saying.  Good-bye, 
Tims,  dear.  I  am  very  glad  you  are  so  happy  with  that 
nice  Mr.  Fitzalan  of  yours.  Yours,  M.  B.  S." 

So  far  the  note,  although  bearing  signs  of  haste, 
was  in  Mildred's  usual  clear  handwriting ;  but  there 
was  a  postscript  scrawled  crookedly  across  the  inner 
sides  of  the  sheet  and  prefixed  by  several  flourishes : 

"  Meet  me  at  Paddington  4.30  train  to-morrow.  Meet 
me.  M." 

Another  flourish  followed. 

The  note  found  Tims  at  the  laboratory,  which  she 
291 


THE    INVADER 

had  not  intended  leaving  till  half-past  four.  But 
the  perplexing  nature  of  the  postscript,  conflicting 
as  it  did  with  the  body  of  the  letter,  made  her  the 
more  inclined  to  obey  its  direction. 

She  arrived  at  Paddington  in  good  time  and  soon 
caught  sight  of  Mildred,  although  for  the  tenth  part 
of  a  second  she  hesitated  in  identifying  her;  for 
Mildred  seldom  wore  black,  although  she  looked 
well  in  it.  To-day  she  was  dressed  in  a  long,  black 
silk  wrap — which,  gathered  about  her  slender  figure 
by  a  ribbon,  concealed  her  whole  dress — and  wore  a 
long,  black  lace  veil  which  might  have  baffled  the 
eyes  of  a  mere  acquaintance.  Tims  could  not  fail 
to  recognize  that  willowy  figure,  with  its  rare  grace 
of  motion,  that  amber  hair,  those  turquoise  -  blue 
eyes  that  gleamed  through  the  swathing  veil  with 
a  restless  brilliancy  unusual  even  in  them.  With 
disordered  dress  and  hat  on  one  side,  Tims  hastened 
after  Mildred. 

"So  here  you  are!"  she  exclaimed;  "that's  all 
right!  I  managed  to  come,  you  see,  though  it's 
been  a  bit  of  a  rush." 

Mildred  looked  around  at  her,  astonished,  possi 
bly  dismayed ;  but  the  veil  acted  as  a  mask. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  surprise,  Tims !  What  on  earth 
brought  you  here  ?  Is  anything  the  matter  ?" 

"  Just  what  I  wanted  to  know.  Why  are  you  in 
black?  Going  to  a  funeral ?" 

"Good  Heavens,  no!  The  only  funeral  I  mean 
to  go  to  will  be  my  own.  But,  Tims,  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  tea  with  Tony.  Why  have  you  come 
here?" 

292 


THE    INVADER 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  to  come  in  the  postscript  of 
your  letter?" 

Mildred  was  evidently  puzzled. 

"I  don't  remember  anything  about  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  was  frightfully  tired  when  I  wrote  to  you — in  fact, 
I  went  to  sleep  over  the  letter ;  but  I  can't  imagine 
how  I  came  to  say  that." 

Tims  was  not  altogether  surprised.  She  had 
had  an  idea  that  Mildred  was  not  answerable  for 
that  postscript,  but  Mildred  herself  had  no  clew 
to  the  mystery,  never  having  been  told  of  Milly's 
written  communication  of  a  year  ago.  She  sick 
ened  at  the  possibility  that  in  some  moment  of 
aberration  she  might  have  written  words  meant  for 
another  on  the  note  to  Tims. 

Tims  felt  sure  that  Milly  wished  her  to  do  some 
thing — but  what? 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  she  asked.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  stay  with  some  friends  who  have 
a  house  on  the  river,  and  I'm  going  to  do — what 
people  always  do  on  the  river.  Any  other  ques 
tions  to  ask,  Tims?" 

"Yes.  I  should  like  to  know  who  your  friends 
are." 

Mildred  laughed  nervously. 

"  You  won't  be  any  the  wiser  if  I  tell  you."  And 
in  the  instant  she  reflected  that  what  she  said  was 
true.  "  I  am  going  to  the  Gorings'." 

The  difference  between  that  and  the  exact  truth 
was  only  the  difference  between  the  plural  and  the 
singular. 

293 


THE    INVADER 
t 

"Don't  go,  old  girl,"  said  Tims,  earnestly. 
"Come  back  to  Tony  with  me  and  wait  till  Ian 
comes  home." 

Mildred  was  very  pale  behind  the  heavy  black 
lace  of  her  veil  and  her  heart  beat  hard;  but  she 
spoke  with  self-possession. 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Tims.  Tony  is  perfectly  well, 
and  there's  Mr.  Goring  who  is  to  travel  down  with 
me.  How  can  I  possibly  go  back  ?  You're  worry 
ing  about  Milly,  I  suppose.  Well,  I'm  rather  nervous 
about  her  myself.  I  always  am  when  I  go  away 
alone.  You  don't  mind  my  telling  them  to  wire 
for  you  if  I  sleep  too  long,  do  you?  And  you'd 
come  as  quick  as  ever  you  could?  Think  how 
awkward  it  would  be  for  Milly  and  for — for  the 
Gorings." 

"I'd  come  right  enough,"  returned  Tims,  som 
brely.  "But  if  you  feel  like  that,  don't  go." 

"I  don't  feel  like  that,"  replied  Mildred;  "I 
never  felt  less  like  it,  or  I  shouldn't  go.  Still,  one 
should  be  prepared  for  anything  that  may  happen. 
All  the  same,  I  very  much  doubt  that  you  will  ever 
see  your  poor  friend  Milly  again,  Tims.  You  must 
try  to  forgive  me.  Now  do  make  haste  and  go  to 
darling  Tony — he's  simply  longing  to  have  you. 
I  see  Mr.  Goring  has  taken  our  places  in  the  train, 
and  I  shall  be  left  behind  if  I  don't  go.  Good-bye, 
old  Tims." 

Mildred  kissed  Tims's  heated,  care-distorted  face, 
and  turned  away  to  where  Goring  stood  at  the 
book  -  stall  buying  superfluous  literature.  Tims 
saw  him  lift  his  hat  gravely  to  Mildred.  It  re- 

294 


THE    rNVADER 

lieved  her  vaguely  to  notice  that  there  seemed  no 
warmth  or  familiarity  about  their  greeting.  She 
turned  away  towards  the  Metropolitan  Railway, 
not  feeling  quite  sure  whether  she  had  failed  in  an 
important  mission  or  merely  made  a  fool  of  herself. 

She  found  Tony  certainly  looking  bonny,  and  no 
more  inclined  to  break  his  heart  about  his  mother's 
departure  than  any  other  healthy,  happy  child  un 
der  like  circumstances.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubt 
ed  whether  a  healthy,  happy  child,  unknowing 
whence  its  beatitudes  spring,  does  not  in  its  deep 
est,  most  vital  moment  regard  all  grown-up  people 
as  necessary  nuisances.  No  one  came  so  delight 
fully  near  being  another  child  as  Mildred;  but 
Tims  was  a  capital  playfellow  too,  a  broad  come 
dian  of  the  kind  appreciated  on  the  nursery  boards. 

A  rousing  game  with  him  and  an  evening  at  the 
theatre  with  Mr.  Fitzalan,  distracted  Tims's  thoughts 
from  her  anxieties.  But  at  night  she  dreamed 
repeatedly  and  uneasily  of  Milly  and  Mildred  as  of 
two  separate  persons,  and  of  Mr.  Goring,  whose 
vivid  face  seen  in  the  full  light  of  the  window  at 
Hampton  Court,  returned  to  her  in  sleep  with  a 
distinctness  unobtainable  in  her  waking  memory. 

On  the  following  day  her  work  with  Sir  James 
Cams  was  of  absorbing  interest,  and  she  came  home 
tired  and  preoccupied  with  it.  Yet  her  dreams  of 
the  night  before  recurred  in  forms  at  once  more 
confused  and  more  poignant.  At  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  she  awoke,  crying  aloud:  "I  must  get 
Milly  back";  and  her  pillow  was  wet  with  tears. 
For  the  two  following  hours  she  must  have  been 

295 


THE   INVADER 

awake,  because  she  heard  all  the  quarters  strike 
from  a  neighboring  church- tower,  yet  they  appeared 
like  a  prolonged  nightmare.  The  emotional  im 
pression  of  some  forgotten  dream  remained,  and  she 
passed  them  in  an  agony  of  grief  for  she  knew  not 
what,  of  remorse  for  having  on  a  certain  summer 
afternoon  denied  Milly's  petition  for  her  assist 
ance,  and  of  intense  volition,  resembling  prayer, 
for  Milly's  return. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TPHE  intense  heat  of  early  afternoon  quivered 
I  on  the  steep  woods  which  fell  to  the  river 
opposite  the  house.  The  sunlit  stream  curved  under 
them,  moving  clear  and  quiet  over  depths  of  brown, 
tangled  water-growths,  and  along  its  fringe  of  gray 
and  green  reeds  and  grasses  and  creamy  plumes  of 
meadow-sweet.  The  house  was  not  very  large. 
It  was  square  and  white;  an  old  wistaria,  an  old 
Gloire-de-Dijon,  and  a  newer  carmine  cluster-rose 
contended  for  possession  of  its  surface.  Striped 
awnings  were  down  over  all  the  lower  windows 
and  some  of  the  upper.  A  large  lawn,  close-shorn 
and  velvety  green,  as  only  Thames-side  lawns  can 
be,  stretched  from  the  house  to  the  river.  It  had 
no  flower-beds  on  it,  but  a  cedar  here,  an  ilex 
there,  dark  and  substantial  on  their  own  dark  shad 
ows,  and  trellises  and  pillars  overrun  by  a  flood  of 
roses  of  every  shade,  from  deep  crimson  to  snow 
white.  The  lawn  was  surrounded  by  shrubberies 
and  plantations,  and  beyond  it  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  except  the  opposite  woods  and  the  river, 
and  sometimes  boats  passing  by  with  a  measured 
sound  of  oars  in  the  rowlocks,  or  the  temporary 
commotion  of  a  little  steam-launch.  It  looked  a 
respectable  early  Victorian  house,  but  it  had  never 

297 


THE   INVADER 

been  quite  that,  for  it  had  been  built  by  George 
Goring's  father  fifty  years  earlier,  and  he  himself 
had  spent  much  of  his  boyhood  there. 

Everything  and  every  one  seemed  asleep,  except 
a  young  man  in  flannels  with  a  flapping  hat  hanging 
over  his  eyes,  who  stood  at  the  end  of  a  punt  and 
pretended  to  fish.  There  was  no  one  to  look  at  him 
or  at  the  house  behind  him,  and  if  there  had  been  ob 
servers,  they  would  not  have  guessed  that  they  were 
looking  at  the  Garden  of  Eden  and  that  he  was 
Adam.  Only  last  evening  he  and  that  fair  Eve  of 
his  had  stood  by  the  river  in  the  moonlight,  where 
the  shattering  hawthorn-bloom  made  the  air  heavy 
with  sweetness,  and  had  spoken  to  each  other  of 
this  their  exquisite,  undreamed-of  happiness.  There 
had  been  a  Before,  there  would  be  an  After,  when 
they  must  stand  on  their  defence  against  the  world, 
must  resist  a  thousand  importunities,  heart-breaking 
prayers,  to  return  to  the  old,  false,  fruitless  exist 
ence. 

But  just  for  these  days  they  could  be  utterly  alone 
in  their  paradise,  undisturbed  even  by  the  thoughts 
of  others,  since  no  one  knew  they  were  there  and 
together.  Alas !  they  had  been  so  only  forty-eight 
hours,  and  already  a  cold  little  serpent  of  anxiety 
had  crept  in  among  their  roses. 

Before  entrusting  herself  to  him,  Mildred  had 
told  him  that,  in  spite  of  her  apparent  good  health, 
she  was  occasionally  subject  to  long  trance-like 
fits,  resembling  sleep;  should  this  happen,  it  would 
be  useless  to  call  an  ordinary  doctor,  but  that  a 
Miss  Timson,  a  well-known  scientific  woman  and  a 

298 


THE    INVADER 

friend  of  hers,  must  be  summoned  at  once.  He  had 
taken  Miss  Timson's  address  and  promised  to  do  so ; 
but  Mildred  had  not  seemed  to  look  upon  the  fit 
as  more  than  a  remote  contingency.  Perhaps  the 
excitement,  the  unconscious  strain  of  the  last  few 
days  had  upset  her  nerves ;  for  this  morning  she  had 
lain  in  what  he  had  taken  for  a  natural  sleep,  until, 
finding  her  still  sleeping  profoundly  at  noon,  he  had 
remembered  her  words  and  telegraphed  to  Miss 
Timson.  An  answer  to  his  telegram,  saying  that 
Miss  Timson  would  come  as  soon  as  possible,  lay 
crumpled  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  punt. 

The  serpent  was  there,  but  Goring  did  not  allow 
its  peeping  coils  thoroughly  to  chill  his  roses.  His 
temperament  was  too  sanguine,  he  felt  too  com 
pletely  steeped  in  happiness,  the  weather  was  too 
beautiful.  Most  likely  Mildred  would  be  all  right 
to-morrow. 

Meantime,  up  there  in  the  shaded  room,  she 
who  had  been  Mildred  began  to  stir  in  her  sleep. 
She  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  through  the  square 
window,  at  the  sunlit  awning  that  overhung  it, 
and  at  the  green  leaves  and  pale  buds  of  the 
Gloire-de-Dijon  rose.  There  was  a  hum  of  bees 
close  by  that  seemed  like  the  voice  of  the  hot 
sunshine.  It  should  have  been  a  pleasant  awak 
ening,  but  Milly  awoke  from  that  long  sleep  of 
hers  with  a  brooding  sense  of  misfortune.  The 
remembrance  of  the  afternoon  when  she  had  so 
suddenly  been  snatched  away  returned  to  her,  but 
it  was  not  the  revelation  of  lan's  passionate  love  for 
her  supplanter  that  came  back  to  her  as  the  thing 

299 


THE    INVADER 

of  most  importance.  Surely  she  must  have  known 
that  long  before,  for  now  the  pain  seemed  old  and 
dulled  from  habit.  It  was  the  terrible  strength  with 
which  the  Evil  Spirit  had  possessed  her,  seizing  her 
channels  of  speech  even  while  she  was  still  there, 
hurling  her  from  her  seat  without  waiting  for  the 
passivity  of  sleep.  No,  her  sense  of  misfortune  was 
not  altogether,  or  even  mainly,  connected  with  that 
last  day  of  hers.  Unlike  Mildred,  she  had  up  till 
now  been  without  any  consciousness  of  things  that 
had  occurred  during  her  quiescence,  and  she  had 
now  no  vision ;  only  a  strong  impression  that  some 
thing  terrible  had  befallen  Ian. 

She  looked  around  the  bedroom,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  very  strange ;  something  like  an  hotel  room, 
yet  at  once  too  sumptuous  and  too  shabby.  There 
was  a  faded  pink  flock  wall-paper  with  a  gilt  pat 
tern  upon  it,  the  chairs  were  gilded  and  padded 
and  covered  with  worn  pink  damask,  the  bed  was 
gilded  and  hung  with  faded  pink  silk  curtains. 
Everywhere  there  was  pink  and  gilding,  and  every 
where  it  was  old  and  faded  and  rubbed.  A  few 
early  Victorian  lithographs  hung  on  the  walls, 
portraits  of  ballet-dancers  and  noblemen  with 
waists  and  whiskers.  No  one  had  tidied  the  room 
since  the  night  before,  and  fine  underclothing  was 
flung  carelessly  about  on  chairs,  a  fussy  petticoat 
here,  the  bodice  of  an  evening  dress  there;  every 
where  just  that  touch  of  mingled  daintiness  and 
disorder  which  by  this  time  Milly  recognized  only 
too  well. 

The  bed  was  large,  and  some  one  else  had  evi- 
300 


THE    INVADER 

dently  slept  there  besides  herself,  for  the  sheet  and 
pillow  were  rumpled  and  there  was  a  half -burnt 
candle  and  a  man's  watch-chain  on  the  small  table 
beside  it.  Wherever  she  was  then,  Ian  was  there 
too,  so  that  she  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  her  own 
sinister  foreboding. 

She  pulled  at  the  bell-rope  twice. 

There  were  only  three  servants  in  the  house; 
a  housekeeper  and  two  maids,  who  all  dated  from 
the  days  of  Mrs.  Maria  Idle,  ex -mistress  of  the 
late  Lord  Ipswich,  dead  herself  now  some  six 
months.  The  housekeeper  was  asleep,  the  maids 
out  of  hearing.  She  opened  the  door  and  found  a 
bathroom  opposite  her  bedroom.  It  had  a  window 
which  showed  her  a  strip  of  lawn  with  flower-beds 
upon  it,  beyond  that  shrubberies  and  tall  trees 
which  shut  out  any  farther  view.  A  hoarse  cuckoo 
was  crying  in  the  distance,  and  from  the  greenery 
came  a  twittering  of  birds  and  sometimes  a  few 
liquid  pipings;  but  there  was  no  sound  of  human 
life.  The  place  seemed  as  empty  as  an  enchanted 
palace  in  a  fairy  story. 

Milly's  toilet  never  took  her  very  long.  She  put 
on  a  fresh,  simple  cotton  dress,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  worn  the  day  before,  and  was  just 
hesitating  as  to  whether  she  should  go  down  or  wait 
for  Ian  to  come,  when  Clarkson,  the  housekeeper, 
knocked  at  her  door. 

"  I  thought  if  you  was  awake,  madam,  you  might 
like  a  bit  of  lunch,"  she  said. 

Milly  refused,  for  this  horrible  feeling  of  depres 
sion  and  anxiety  made  her  insensible  to  hunger. 

301 


THE    INVADER 

She  looked  at  the  housekeeper  with  a  certain  sur 
prise,  for  Clarkson  was  as  decorated  and  as  much 
the  worse  for  wear  as  the  furniture  of  the  bedroom. 
She  was  a  large,  fat  woman,  laced  into  a  brown 
cashmere  dress,  with  a  cameo  brooch  on  her  ample 
bosom;  her  hair  was  unnaturally  black,  curled  and 
dressed  high  on  the  top  of  her  head,  she  had  big  gold 
earrings,  and  a  wealth  of  powder  on  her  large,  red 
face. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I  am  likely  to  find  Mr. 
Stewart?"  asked  Milly,  politely. 

The  woman  stared,  and  when  she  answered  there 
was  more  than  a  shade  of  insolence  in  her  coarse 
voice  and  smile. 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell,  madam.  Mr.  Stewart's  not 
our  gentleman  here." 

Milly,  understanding  the  reply  as  little  as  the 
housekeeper  had  understood  the  question,  yet  felt 
that  some  impertinence  was  intended  and  turned 
away. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  explore  on  her 
own  account.  A  staircase  of  the  dull  Victorian 
kind  led  down  to  a  dark,  cool  hall.  The  front  door 
was  open.  She  walked  to  it  and  stood  under  a 
stumpy  portico,  looking  out.  The  view  was  much 
the  same  as  that  seen  from  the  bathroom,  only 
that  instead  of  grass  and  flower-beds  there  was  a 
gravel  sweep,  and,  just  opposite  the  front  door,  a 
circle  of  grass  with  a  tall  monkey-puzzle  tree  in  the 
centre.  Except  for  the  faded  gorgeousness  of  the 
bedroom,  the  house  looked  like  an  ordinary  country 
house,  belonging  to  old  people  who  did  not  care  to 

302 


THE    INVADER 

move  with  the  times.  Why  should  she  feel  at  every 
step  a  growing  dread  of  what  might  meet  her  there  ? 

She  turned  from  the  portico  and  opened,  hesitat 
ingly,  the  door  of  a  room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hall.  It  was  a  drawing  -  room,  with  traces  of  the 
same  shabby  gorgeousness  that  prevailed  in  the 
bedroom,  but  mitigated  by  a  good  deal  of  clean, 
faded  chintz ;  and  at  one  end  was  a  brilliant  full- 
length  Millais  portrait  of  Mrs.  Maria  Idle  in  blue  silk 
and  a  crinoline.  It  was  a  long  room,  pleasant  in  the 
dim  light;  for  although  it  had  three  windows,  the 
farthest  a  French  one  and  open,  all  were  covered 
with  awnings,  coming  low  down  and  showing  noth 
ing  of  the  outer  world  but  a  hand's  breadth  of  turf 
and  wandering  bits  of  creeper.  It  was  sweet  with 
flowers,  and  on  a  consol  table  before  a  mirror  stood 
a  high  vase  from  which  waved  and  twined  tall  sprays 
and  long  streamers  of  cluster-roses,  carmine  and 
white.  It  was  beautiful,  yet  Milly  turned  away 
from  it  almost  with  a  shudder.  She  recognized  the 
touch  of  the  hand  that  must  have  set  the  roses  there. 
And  the  nameless  horror  grew  upon  her. 

Except  for  the  flowers,  there  was  little  sign  of 
occupation  in  the  room.  A  large  round  rosewood 
table  was  set  with  blue  glass  vases  on  mats  and 
some  dozen  photograph  -  albums  and  gift -books, 
dating  from  the  sixties.  But  on  a  stool  in  a  corner 
lay  a  newspaper ;  and  the  date  on  it  gave  her  a  shock. 
She  had  supposed  herself  to  have  been  away  about 
four  months ;  she  found  she  had  been  gone  sixteen. 
There  had  been  plenty  of  time  for  a  misfortune  to 
happen,  and  she  felt  convinced  that  it  had  hap- 

303 


THE    INVADER 

pened.  But  what  ?  If  Ian  or  Tony  were  dead  she 
would  surely  still  be  in  mourning.  Then  on  a 
little  rosewood  escritoire,  such  as  ladies  were  wont 
to  use  when  they  had  nothing  to  write,  she  spied 
an  old  leather  writing-case  with  the  initials  M.  B.  F. 
upon  it.  It  was  one  Aunt  Beatrice  had  given  her 
when  she  first  went  to  Ascham,  and  it  seemed  to 
look  on  her  pleasantly,  like  the.  face  of  an  old 
friend.  She  found  a  few  letters  in  the  pockets, 
among  them  one  from  Ian  written  from  Berlin  a 
few  days  before,  speaking  of  his  speedy  return  and 
of  Tony's  amusing  letter  from  the  sea-side.  She  be 
gan  to  hope  her  feeling  of  anxiety  and  depression 
might  be  only  the  shadow  of  the  fear  and  anguish 
which  she  had  suffered  on  that  horrible  afternoon 
sixteen  months  ago.  She  must  try  not  to  think 
about  it,  must  try  to  be  bright  for  lan's  sake.  Some 
one  surely  was  with  her  at  this  queer  place,  since 
she  was  sharing  a  room  with  another  person — prob 
ably  a  female  friend  of  that  Other's,  who  had  such 
a  crowd  of  them. 

She  drew  the  awning  half-way  up  and  stood  on 
the  step  outside  the  French  window.  The  lawn, 
the  trees,  the  opposite  hills  were  unknown  to  her, 
but  the  spirit  of  the  river  spoke  to  her  familiarly, 
and  she  knew  it  for  the  Thames.  A  gardener  in 
shirt-sleeves  was  filling  a  water-barrel  by  the  river, 
under  a  hawthorn-tree,  and  the  young  man  in  the 
punt  was  putting  up  his  fishing-tackle.  As  she 
looked,  the  strangeness  of  the  scene  passed  away. 
She  could  not  say  where  it  was,  but  in  some  dream 
or  vision  she  had  certainly  seen  this  lawn,  that  view, 

304 


THE    INVADER 

before;  when  the  young  man  turned  and  came 
nearer  she  would  know  his  face.  And  the  dim, 
horrible  thing  that  was  waiting  for  her  somewhere 
about  the  quiet  house,  the  quiet  garden,  seemed  to 
draw  a  step  nearer,  to  lift  its  veil  a  little.  Who  was 
it  that  had  stood  not  far  from  where  the  gardener 
was  standing  now,  and  seen  the  moon  hanging  large 
and  golden  over  the  mystery  of  the  opposite  woods  ? 
Whoever  it  was,  some  one's  arm  had  been  fast 
around  her  and  there  had  been  kisses — kisses. 

It  took  but  a  few  seconds  for  these  half -revela 
tions  to  drop  into  her  mind,  and  before  she  had  had 
time  to  reflect  upon  them,  the  young  man  in  the 
punt  looked  up  and  saw  her  standing  there  on  the 
step.  He  took  off  his  flappy  hat  and  waved  it  to 
her;  then  he  put  down  his  tackle,  ran  to  the  near 
end  of  the  punt  and  jumped  lightly  ashore.  He 
came  up  the  green  lawn,  and  her  anxiety  sent  her 
down  to  meet  him  almost  as  eagerly  as  love  would 
have  done.  The  hat  shaded  all  the  upper  part  of 
his  face,  and  at  a  distance,  in  the  strong  sunshine, 
the  audacious  chin,  the  red  lower  lip,  caught  her  eye 
first  and  seemed  to  extinguish  the  rest  of  the  face. 
And  suddenly  she  disliked  them.  Who  was  the 
man,  and  how  did  she  come  to  know  him?  But 
former  experiences  of  strange  awakenings  had  made 
her  cautious,  self  -  controlling,  almost  capable  of 
hypocrisy. 

"So  you're  awake!"  shouted  George,  still  a  long 
way  down  the  lawn.  "Good!  How  are  you? 
All  right?" 

She  nodded  "Yes,"  with  a  constrained  smile. 
305 


THE    INVADER 

In  a  minute  they  had  met,  he  had  turned  her 
around,  and  with  his  arm  under  hers  was  leading 
her  towards  the  house  again. 

"All  right?  Really  all  right?"  he  asked  very 
softly,  pressing  her  arm  with  his  hand  and  stooping 
his  head  to  bring  his  mouth  on  a  level  with  her  ear. 

"Very  nearly,  at  any  rate,"  she  answered,  coldly, 
trying  to  draw  away  from  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  that  for?"  he  asked. 
"  Afraid  of  shocking  the  gardener,  eh  ?  What  queer 
little  dear  little  ways  you've  got!  I  suppose 
Undines  are  like  that." 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him  as  he  threw  back  his 
head  and  laughed  a  noisy  laugh  that  jarred  upon 
her  nerves. 

Milly  began  to  feel  indignant.  It  was  just  possi 
ble  that  a  younger  sister  in  Australia  might  have 
married  and  brought  this  extraordinary  young 
man  home  to  England,  but  his  looks,  his  tone,  were 
not  fraternal;  and  she  had  never  forgotten  the 
Maxwell  Davison  episode.  She  walked  on  stiffly. 

"Every  one  seems  to  be  out,"  she  observed,  as 
calmly  as  she  could. 

He  frowned. 

"You  mean  those  devils  of  servants  haven't  been 
looking  after  you?"  he  asked.  "Yet  I  gave  Clark- 
son  her  orders.  Of  course  they're  baggages,  but  I 
haven't  had  the  heart  to  send  them  away  from 
the  old  place,  for  who  on  earth  would  take  them  ? 
I  expect  we  aren't  improving  their  chances,  you 
and  I,  at  this  very  moment ;  in  spite  of  respecting 
the  gardener's  prejudices." 

306 


THE    INVADER 

He  chuckled,  as  at  some  occult  joke  of  his  own. 

They  stooped  together  under  the  half -raised 
awning  of  the  French  window,  and  entered  the  dim, 
flower  -  scented  drawing-room  side  by  side.  The 
young  man  threw  off  his  hat,  and  she  saw  the  silky 
ripple  of  his  nut-brown  hair,  his  smooth  forehead, 
his  bright  -  glancing  hazel  eyes,  all  the  happy 
pleasantness  of  his  countenance.  Before  she  had 
had  time  to  reconsider  her  dislike  of  him,  he  had 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  hair  and  face, 
whispering  little  words  of  love  between  the  kisses. 
For  one  paralyzed  moment  Milly  suffered  these 
dreadful  words,  these  horrible  caresses.  Then  ex 
erting  the  strength  of  frenzy,  she  pushed  him  from 
her  and  bounded  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  en 
trenching  herself  behind  the  big  rosewood  table 
with  its  smug  mats  and  vases  and  albums. 

"You  brute!  you  brute!  you  hateful  cad!"  she 
stammered  with  trembling  lips;  "how  dare  you 
touch  me?" 

George  Goring  stared  at  her  with  startled  eyes. 

"Mildred!  Dearest!  Good  God!  What's  gone 
wrong?" 

"Where's  my  husband?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
sharp  with  anger  and  terror.  "I  want  to  go — I 
must  leave  this  horrid  place  at  once." 

"Your  husband?" 

It  was  Goring 's  turn  to  feel  himself  plunged  into 
the  midst  of  a  nightmare,  and  he  grew  almost  as 
pale  as  Milly.  How  in  Heaven's  name  was  he 
going  to  manage  her  ?  She  looked  very  ill  and  must 
of  course  be  delirious.  That  would  have  been 


THE    INVADER 

alarming  in  any  case,  and  this  particular  form  of 
delirium  was  excruciatingly  painful. 

"Yes,  my  husband — where  is  he?  I  shall  tell 
him  how  you've  dared  to  insult  me.  I  must  go. 
This  is  your  house — I  must  leave  it  at  once." 

Goring  did  not  attempt  to  come  near  her.  He 
spoke  very  quietly. 

"Try  and  remember,  Mildred;  Stewart  is  not 
here.  He  will  not  even  be  in  England  till  to-morrow. 
You  are  alone  with  me.  Hadn't  you  better  go  to 
bed  again  and — "  he  was  about  to  say,  "wait  until 
Miss  Timson  comes,"  but  as  it  was  possible  that  the 
advent  of  the  person  she  had  wished  him  to  sum 
mon  might  now  irritate  her,  he  substituted — "and 
keep  quiet  ?  I  promise  not  to  come  near  you  if  you 
don't  wish  to  see  me." 

"I  am  alone  here  with  you?"  Milly  repeated, 
slowly,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 
"Good  God,"  she  nioaned  to  herself,  "what  can 
have  happened?" 

"Yes.  For  Heaven's  sake,  go  and  lie  down.  I 
expect  the  doctor  can  give  you  something  to  soothe 
your  nerves  and  then  perhaps  you'll  remember." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  fierce  impatience. 

"You  think  I'm  mad,  but  I'm  not.  I  have  been 
mad  and  I  am  myself  again;  only  I  can't  remember 
anything  that's  happened  since  I  went  out  of  my 
mind.  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me.  Who  are 
you?  I  never  saw  you  before  to  my  knowledge." 

Her  voice,  her  attitude  were  almost  truculent  as 
she  faced  him,  her  right  hand  dragging  at  the  loose 
clasp  of  a  big  photograph  album.  Every  word, 

308 


THE    INVADER 

every  look,  was  agony  to  Goring,  but  he  controlled 
himself  by  an  effort. 

"  I  am  George  Goring, "he  said,  slowly,  and  paused 
with  anxious  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  hoping  that  the 
name  might  yet  stir  some  answering  string  of  ten 
derness  in  the  broken  lyre  of  her  mind. 

She  too  paused,  as  though  tracking  some  far-off 
association  with  the  name.  Then: 

"Ah!  poor  Lady  Augusta's  husband,"  she  re 
peated,  yet  sterner  than  before  in  her  anger.  "My 
friend  Lady  Augusta's  husband!  And  why  am  I 
here  alone  with  you,  Mr.  Goring?" 

"Because  I  am  your  lover,  Mildred.  Because  I 
love  you  better  than  any  one  or  any  thing  in  the 
world;  and  yesterday  you  thought  you  loved  me, 
you  thought  you  could  trust  all  your  life  to  me." 

She  had  known  the  answer  already  in  her  heart, 
but  the  fact  stated  plainly  by  another;  became  even 
more  dreadful,  more  intolerable,  than  before.  She 
uttered  a  low  cry  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"Mildred — dearest!"  he  breathed  imploringly. 

Then  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  straight  at 
him  with  flaming  eyes,  this  fair,  fragile  creature  trans 
formed  into  a  pitiless  Fury.  She  forgot  that  indeed 
an  Evil  Spirit  had  dwelt  within  her ;  George  Goring 
might  be  victim  rather  than  culprit.  In  this  hour 
of  her  anguish  the  identity  of  that  body  of  hers, 
which  through  him  was  defiled,  that  honor  of  hers, 
yes  and  of  Ian  Stewart's,  which  through  him  was 
dragged  in  the  dust,  made  her  no  longer  able  to 
keep  clearly  in  mind  the  separateness  cf  the  Mildred 
Stewart  of  yesterday  from  herself. 

309 


THE    INVADER 

"  I  tell  you  I  was  mad,"  she  gasped ;  "and  you — 
you  vile,  wicked  man! — you  took  advantage  of  it  to 
ruin  my  life — to  ruin  my  husband's  life !  You  must 
know  Ian  Stewart,  a  man  whose  shoes  you  are  not 
fit  to  tie.  Do  you  think  any  woman  in  her  senses 
would  leave  him  for  you?  Ah!—  "  she  breathed  a 
long,  shuddering  breath  and  her  hand  was  clinched 
so  hard  upon  the  loose  album  clasp  that  it  ran  into 
her  palm. 

"Mildred!"  cried  George,  staggered,  stricken  as 
though  by  some  fiery  rain. 

"  I  ought  to  be  sorry  for  your  wife,"  she  went  on. 
"  She  is  a  splendid  woman,  she  has  done  nothing  to 
deserve  that  you  should  treat  her  so  scandalously. 
But  I  can't — I  can't  " — a  dry  sob  caught  her  voice 
— "be  sorry  for  any  one  except  myself  and  Ian.  I 
always  knew  I  wasn't  good  enough  to  be  his  wife, 
but  I  was  so  proud  of  it — so  proud — and  now — 
Oh,  it's  too  horrible!  I'm  not  fit  to  live." 

George  had  sunk  upon  a  chair  and  hidden  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

"Don't  say  that,"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  almost 
inaudibly.  "  It  was  my  doing." 

She  broke  out  again. 

"Of  course  it  was.  It's  nothing  to  you,  I  sup 
pose.  You've  broken  my  husband's  heart  and 
mine  too;  you've  hopelessly  disgraced  us  both  and 
spoiled  our  lives;  and  all  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
amusement,  a  little  low  pleasure.  We  can't  do 
anything,  we  can't  punish  you;  but  if  curses  were 
any  use,  oh,  how  I  could  curse  you,  Mr.  Goring!" 

The  sobs  rising  in  a  storm  choked  her  voice. 
310 


THE    INVADER 

She  rushed  from  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
her  and  leaving  George  Goring  there,  his  head  on 
his  hands.  He  sat  motionless,  hearing  nothing  but 
the  humming  silence  of  the  hot  afternoon. 

Milly,  pressing  back  her  tears,  flew  across  the  hall 
and  up  the  stairs.  The  vague  nightmare  thing 
that  had  lurked  for  her  in  the  shadows  of  the  house, 
when  she  had  descended  them  so  quietly,  had  taken 
shape  at  last.  She  knew  now  the  unspeakable 
secret  of  the  pink  and  gold  bedroom,  the  shabbily 
gorgeous  bed,  the  posturing  dancers,  the  simpering, 
tailored  noblemen.  The  atmosphere  of  it,  scented 
and  close,  despite  the  open  window,  seemed  to  take 
her  by  the  throat.  She  dared  not  stop  to  think, 
lest  this  sick  despair,  this  loathing  of  herself,  should 
master  her.  To  get  home  at  once  was  her  impulse, 
and  she  must  do  it  before  any  one  could  interfere. 

It  was  a  matter  of  a  few  seconds  to  find  a  hat, 
gloves,  a  parasol.  She  noticed  a  purse  in  the 
pocket  of  her  dress  and  counted  the  money  in  it. 
There  was  not  much,  but  enough  to  take  her  home, 
since  she  felt  sure  the  river  shimmering  over  there 
was  the  Thames.  She  did  not  stay  to  change  her 
thin  shoes,  but  flitted  down  the  stairs  and  out  under 
the  portico,  as  silent  as  a  ghost.  The  drive  curved 
through  a  shrubbery,  and  in  a  minute  she  was  out 
of  sight  of  the  house.  She  hurried  past  the  lodge, 
hesitating  in  which  direction  to  turn,  when  a  trades 
man's  cart  drove  past.  She  asked  the  young  man 
who  was  driving  it  her  way  to  the  station,  and  he 
told  her  it  was  not  very  far,  but  that  she  could  not 
catch  the  next  train  to  town  if  she  meant  to  walk. 


THE   INVADER 

He  was  going  in  that  direction  himself  and  would 
give  her  a  lift  if  she  liked.  She  accepted  the  young 
man's  offer ;  but  if  he  made  it  in  order  to  beguile  the 
tedium  of  his  way,  he  was  disappointed. 

The  road  was  dusty  and  sunny,  and  this  gave  her 
a  reason  for  opening  her  large  parasol.  She  cowered 
under  it,  hiding  herself  from  the  women  who  rolled 
by  in  shiny  carriages  with  high-stepping  horses ;  not 
so  much  because  she  feared  she  might  meet  ac 
quaintances,  as  from  an  instinctive  desire  to  hide 
herself,  a  thing  so  shamed  and  everlastingly  wrretch- 
ed,  from  every  human  eye.  And  so  it  happened 
that,  when  she  was  close  to  the  station,  she  missed 
seeing  and  being  seen  by  Tims,  who  was  driving  to 
Mr.  Goring 's  house  in  a  hired  trap  which  he  had  sent 
to  meet  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

MTLLY  took  a  ticket  for  Paddington  and  hurried 
to  the  train,  which  was  waiting  at  the  plat 
form,  choosing  an  empty  compartment.  Action 
had  temporarily  dulled  the  passion  of  her  misery, 
her  rage,  her  shuddering  horror  at  herself.  But 
alone  in  the  train,  it  all  returned  upon  her,  only 
with  a  complete  realization  of  circumstance  which 
made  it  worse. 

It  had  been  her  impulse  to  rush  to  her  home, 
to  her  husband,  as  for  refuge.  Now  she  perceived 
that  there  was  no  refuge  for  her,  no  comfort  in  her 
despair,  but  rather  another  ordeal  to  be  faced.  She 
would  have  to  tell  her  husband  the  truth,  so  far 
as  she  knew  it.  Good  God!  Why  could  she  not 
shake  off  from  her  soul  the  degradation,  the  burn 
ing  shame  of  this  fair  flesh  of  hers,  and  return  to 
him  with  some  other  body,  however  homely,  which 
should  be  hers  and  hers  alone  ?  She  remembered 
that  the  man  she  loathed  had  said  that  Ian  would 
not  be  back  in  England  until  to-morrow.  She 
supposed  the  Evil  Thing  had  counted  on  stealing 
home  in  time  to  meet  him,  and  would  have  met 
him  with  an  innocently  smiling  face. 

A  moment  Milly  triumphed  in  the  thought  that 
it  was  she  herself  who  would  meet  Ian  and  reveal 


THE    INVADER 

to  him  the  treachery  of  the  creature  who  had  sup 
planted  her  in  his  heart.  Then  with  a  shudder 
she  hid  her  face,  remembering  that  it  was,  after 
all,  her  own  dishonor  and  his  which  she  must 
reveal.  He  would  of  course  take  her  back,  and 
if  that  could  be  the  end,  they  might  live  down 
the  thing  together.  But  it  would  not  be  the  end. 
"I  am  the  stronger,"  that  Evil  Thing  had  said, 
and  it  was  the  stronger.  At  first  step  by  step,  now 
with  swift  advancing  strides,  it  was  robbing  her  of 
the  months,  the  years,  till  soon,  very  soon,  while 
in  the  world's  eyes  she  seemed  to  live  and  thrive,  she 
would  be  dead;  dead,  without  a  monument,  with 
out  a  tear,  her  very  soul  not  free  and  in  God's  hands, 
but  held  somewhere  in  abeyance.  And  Ian? 
Through  what  degradation,  to  what  public  shame 
would  he,  the  most  refined  and  sensitive  of  men,  be 
dragged!  His  child — her  child  and  lan's — would 
grow  up  like  that  poor  wretched  George  Goring, 
breathing  corruption,  lies,  dishonor,  from  his  earli 
est  years.  And  she,  the  wife,  the  mother,  would 
seem  to  be  guilty  of  all  that,  while  she  was  really 
bound,  helpless— dead. 

The  passion  of  her  anger  and  despair  stormed 
through  her  veins  again  with  yet  greater  violence, 
but  this  time  George  Goring  was  forgotten  and  all 
its  waves  broke  impotently  against  that  adversary 
whose  diabolical  power  she  was  so  impotent  to 
resist,  who  might  return  to-morrow,  to-day  for 
aught  she  knew. 

She  had  been  moving  restlessly  about  the  com 
partment,  making  vehement  gestures  in  her  des- 


* 
THE    INVADER 

peration,  but  now  a  sudden,  terrible,  yet  calming 
idea  struck  her  to  absolute  quietness.  There  was 
a  way,  just  one,  to  thwart  this  adversary ;  she  could 
destroy  the  body  into  which  it  thought  to  return. 
At  the  same  moment  there  arose  in  her  soul  two 
opposing  waves  of  emotion — one  of  passionate  self- 
pity  to  think  that  she,  so  weak  and  timid,  should 
be  driven  to  destroy  herself;  the  other  of  triumph 
over  her  mortal  foe  delivered  into  her  hands.  She 
felt  a  kind  of  triumph  too  in  the  instantaneous- 
ness  with  which  she  was  able  to  make  up  her 
mind  that  this  was  the  only  thing  to  be  done — 
she,  usually  so  full  of  mental  and  moral  hesita 
tion.  Let  it  be  done  quickly  —  now.  while  the 
spur  of  excitement  pricked  her  on.  The  Thing 
seemed  to  have  a  knowledge  of  her  experiences 
which  was  not  reciprocal.  How  it  would  laugh  if 
it  recollected  in  its  uncanny  way,  that  she  had 
wanted  to  kill  herself  and  it  with  her,  that  she  had 
had  it  at  her  mercy  and  then  had  been  too  weak 
and  cowardly  to  strike!  Should  she  buy  some 
poison  when  she  reached  Paddington?  She  knew 
nothing  about  poisons  and  their  effects,  except 
that  carbolic  caused  terrible  agony,  and  laudanum 
was  not  to  be  trusted  unless  you  knew  the  dose. 
The  train  was  slowing  up  and  the  lonely  river  gleam 
ed  silverly  below.  It  beckoned  to  her,  the  river, 
upon  whose  stream  she  had  spent  so  many  young, 
happy  days. 

She  got  out  at  the  little  station  and  walked  away 
from  it  \vith  a  quick,  light  step,  as  though  hastening 
to  keep  some  pleasurable  appointment.  After  all 


THE    INVADER 

the  years  of  weak,  bewildered  subjection,  of  defeat 
and  humiliation,  her  turn  had  come;  she  had  found 
the  answer  to  the  Sphinx's  riddle,  the  way  to 
victory. 

She  knew  the  place  where  she  found  herself,  for 
she  had  several  times  made  one  of  a  party  rowing 
down  from  Oxford  to  London.  But  it  was  not  one 
of  the  frequented  parts  of  the  river,  being  a  quiet 
reach  among  solitary  meadows.  She  remembered 
that  there  was  a  shabby  little  house  standing  by 
itself  on  the  bank  where  boats  could  be  hired,  for 
they  had  put  in  there  once  to  replace  an  oar,  having 
lost  one  down  a  weir  in  the  neighborhood.  The 
weir  had  not  been  on  the  main  stream,  but  they 
had  come  upon  it  in  exploring  a  backwater.  It 
could  not  be  far  off. 

She  walked  quickly  along  the  bank,  turning  over 
and  over  in  her  mind  the  same  thoughts ;  the  cruel 
wrong  which  now  for  so  many  years  she  had  suf 
fered,  the  final  disgrace  brought  upon  her  and  her 
husband,  and  she  braced  her  courage  to  strike  the 
blow  that  should  revenge  all.  The  act  to  which  this 
fair-haired,  once  gentle  woman  was  hurrying  along 
the  lonely  river-bank,  was  not  in  its  essence  suicide ; 
it  was  revenge,  it  was  murder. 

When  she  came  to  the  shabby  little  house  where 
the  boats  lay  under  an  unlovely  zinc-roofed  shed, 
she  wondered  whether  she  might  ask  for  ink  and 
paper  and  write  to  some  one.  She  longed  to  send 
one  little  word  to  Ian ;  but  then  what  could  she  say  ? 
She  could  not  have  seen  him  and  concealed  the 
truth  from  him,  but  it  was  one  of  the  advantages  of 

316 


THE    INVADER 

her  disappearance  that  he  need  never  know  the  dis 
honor  done  him.  And  she  knew  he  considered 
suicide  a  cowardly  act.  He  was  quite  wrong  there. 
It  was  an  act  of  heroic  courage  to  go  out  like  this 
to  meet  death.  It  was  so  lonely;  even  lonelier  than 
death  must  always  be.  She  had  the  conviction 
that  she  was  not  doing  wrong,  but  right.  Hers  was 
no  common  case.  And  for  the  first  time  she  saw 
that  there  might  be  a  reason  for  this  doom  which 
had  befallen  her.  Men  regard  one  sort  of  weakness 
as  a  sin  to  be  struggled  against,  another  as  some 
thing  harmless,  even  amiable,  to  be  acquiesced  in. 
But  perhaps  all  weakness  acquiesced  in  was  a  sin 
in  the  eyes  of  Eternal  Wisdom,  was  at  any  rate  to 
be  left  to  the  mercy  of  its  own  consequences.  She 
looked  back  upon  her  life  and  saw  herself  never 
exerting  her  own  judgment,  always  following  in 
some  one  else's  tracks,  never  fighting  against  her 
physical,  mental,  moral  timidity.  It  was  no  doubt 
this  weakness  of  hers  that  had  laid  her  open  to  the 
mysterious  curse  which  she  was  now,  by  a  supreme 
effort  of  independent  judgment  and  physical  cour 
age,  resolved  to  throw  off. 

A  stupid-looking  man  in  a  dirty  cotton  shirt  got 
out  the  small  boat  she  chose;  stared  a  minute  in 
surprise  to  see  the  style  in  which  she,  an  Oxford 
girl  born  and  bred,  handled  the  sculls,  and  then 
went  in  again  to  continue  sleeping  off  a  pint  of  beer. 

She  pulled  on  mechanically,  with  a  long,  regular 
stroke,  and  one  by  one  scenes,  happy  river-scenes 
out  of  past  years,  came  back  to  her  with  wonderful 
vividness.  Looking  about  her  she  saw  an  osier-bed 


THE    INVADER 

dividing  the  stream,  and  beside  it  the  opening  into 
the  willow  -  shaded  backwater  which  she  remem 
bered.  She  turned  the  boat's  head  into  it.  Heavy 
clouds  had  rolled  up  and  covered  the  sky,  and  there 
was  a  kind  of  twilight  between  the  dark  water  and 
the  netted  boughs  overhead.  Very  soon  she  heard 
the  noise  of  a  weir.  Once  such  a  sound  had  been 
pleasant  in  her  ears ;  but  now  it  turned  her  cold  with 
fear.  On  one  side  the  backwater  flowed  sluggishly 
on  around  the  osier-bed;  on  the  other  it  hurried 
smoothly,  silently  away,  to  broaden  suddenly  be 
fore  it  swept  in  white  foam  over  an  open  weir  into 
a  deep  pool  below.  She  trembled  violently  and  the 
oars  moved  feebly  in  her  hands,  chill  for  all  the 
warmth  of  the  afternoon.  Her  boat  was  in  the 
stream  which  led  to  the  weir,  but  not  yet  fully 
caught  by  the  current.  A  few  more  strokes  and 
the  thing  would  be  done,  she  would  be  carried 
quickly  on  and  over  that  dancing,  sparkling  edge 
into  the  deep  pool  below.  Her  courage  failed,  could 
not  be  screwed  to  the  sticking-point ;  she  hung  on 
the  oars,  and  the  boat,  as  if  answering  to  her 
thought,  stopped,  swung  half  around.  As  she  held 
the  boat  with  the  oars  and  closed  her  eyes  in  an 
anguish  of  hesitation  and  terror,  a  strange  convul 
sion  shook  her,  such  as  she  had  felt  once  before,  and 
a  low  cry,  not  her  own,  broke  from  her  lips. 

"No — no!"  they  uttered,  hoarsely. 

The  Thing  was  there  then,  awake  to  its  danger, 
and  in  another  moment  might  snatch  her  from 
herself,  return  laughing  at  her  cowardice,  to  that 
house  by  the  river.  She  pressed  her  lips  hard  to- 


THE    INVADER 

gether,  and  silently,  with  all  the  strength  of  her  hate 
and  of  her  love,  bent  to  the  oars.  The  little  boat 
shot  forward  into  mid-stream,  the  current  seized  it 
and  swept  it  rapidly  on  towards  the  dancing  edge 
of  water.  She  dropped  the  sculls  and  a  hoarse 
shriek  broke  from  her  lips;  but  it  was  not  she  who 
shrieked,  for  in  her  heart  was  no  fear,  but  triumph — 
triumph  as  of  one  who  is  at  length  avenged  of  her 
mortal  enemy. 

In  the  darkened  drawing-room,  the  room  so  full 
of  traces  of  all  that  had  been  exquisite  in  Mildred 
Stewart,  Ian  mourned  alone.  Presently  the  door 
opened  a  little,  and  a  tall,  slender,  childish  figure  in 
a  white  smock,  slipped  in  and  closed  it  gently  be 
hind  him.  Tony  stole  up  to  his  father  and  stood 
between  his  knees.  He  looked  at  Ian,  silent,  pale, 
large-eyed.  That  a  grown-up  person  and  a  man 
should  shed  tears  was  strange,  even  portentous,  to 
him. 

"Won't  Mummy  come  back,  not  ever?"  asked 
the  child  at  last,  piteously,  in  a  half  whisper. 

"No,  never,  Tony;  Mummy  won't  ever  come 
back.  She's  gone — gone  for  always." 

The  child  looked  in  his  father's  eyes  strangely, 
penetratingly. 

"Which  Mummy?"  he  asked. 


THE    END 


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